Array of Sacrifice
by rockpaperscissor
Summary: It didn’t matter, after all, what happened to him. Not as long as Al was back to normal.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue: In Which There Is A Peculiar Dream**_

* * *

_He found himself face down on a white marble floor, the cuffs of his shirt-sleeves digging into his cheek. _

"_…I should really find something more comfortable to sleep in," Roy muttered to himself as he stood__ upright. As he searched for his shoes – his feet were bare in a manner that was rather undignified for a high-ranking officer – he noticed his surroundings were a bit peculiar. As in… there was nothing there._

_Not even his shoes._

_It was all rather perplexing. _"_Where am I?" he wondered aloud._

"_Damn it. Seriously, Mustang, be quiet! Can't you see we're a little busy here?"_

_He stared. "Ed…?"_

_That seemed to be Fullmetal, all right, right down to the red coat and the alchemy sign on his back. The annoying twerp was twisting to face him from a seat at a round wooden table, surrounded with strange companions – an oversized rabbit (which, strangely enough, seemed to be even taller than Edward), an old man with horrendously frizzy white hair and a bulbous nose, and lastly, a shifty-eyed meerkat that sat atop a plump warthog. _

_The latter was snorting in irritation as the meerkat grumbled, "…And here we have yet ANOTHER clueless human… hurry it up, Ed, won't you?"_

_The boy sighed. "Yeah, yeah, just a minute. Roy…" there was an impatient glint in his eye, "could you wait a little? I kind of want to finish this."_

_Roy was too flabbergasted to reply normally. This was a dream, right? _"_Oh, um… sure…?" _

"_Thanks." He pulled his cards back into his hand and faced the others. "Seven chips and a carrot."_

"_Guten tag," the old man greeted Roy before turning to narrow his eyes at Ed. "You're voking on dangeruz grondz, Edvard…" the old man raised his eyebrows. "Ah do 'op you're not trying to blaf…"_

"_Me, bluff? Ha!"_

"_Very well then." He tossed something into the middle as well. "Two carrots."_

"_Only two? Scared now, are we?" Ed gloated. _

_Meanwhile, the rabbit turned to Roy. "Hey… what's up doc?" he said, munching on his own carrot._

"_Close your mouth, stupid rabbit, and don't eat my winnings," Ed huffed, instantly glaring. "And leave the man alone, will ya?"_

"_Yeah, yeah," the rabbit gestured dismissively. "No need for insults, you know." He clicked his tongue in reprimand and shook his head. "Tsk tsk tsk."_

"_Hey guys, back to the game! How else are Timon and I gonna win all these bugs?"_

"_You heard the warthog," the meerkat said. "Let's get this started!"_

_Roy continued staring._

--

…_Two minutes later…_

"_One carrot!"_

"_Two bugs!"_

"_Three cockroaches!"_

"_One interdimensional formula…" _

_This one was followed by grumbles._

"_Not again…!" _

"_Oh, that's _so_ not fair."_

"_You're fricking kidding me, Einstein. Emc2? That old junk?"_

"_Cheapskate." _

"_-All right, _two_ interdimensional formulas." _

_Warning glares. _

_"...And a ladybug."_

"_That's better."_

_--_

…_Five minutes later…_

"_So…?"_

_Sigh. "I vold."_

"_Us too-"_

"_Dang, Pumbaa… all the goods gone to waste on a rabbit and a kid…"_

"_Watch it, tiny. Well, Bugs..?"_

"_Well, Eddie?"_

"…"

"_Eddie?"_

"_I told you not to call me that."_

...

"…_So?"_

_Grumble. _

_The rabbit smirked. "Well, doc? Gonna fold?"_

"_You wish, furball. Raise the stakes?"_

"_Whatcha thinking?"_

"_Five carrots and three alchemic formulas."_

"…_Done."_

"_Haha! Read it and weep!" Edward chortled, spreading his hand on the table. "Royal Flush!"_

"_Oh really… that's too bad." Smugly, the rabbit showed his cards. "Because I thought I had a winning suit of some kind…_Five_ of a kind, if I'm not mistaken…"_

_Fullmetal groaned and leaned back on his backrest. "Crap. I can't believe I got beaten by a damn rodent at poker… what a blow to my ego…"_

_He got up and stretched, his back arching like a particularly athletic feline, while behind him the table and strange companions promptly disappeared. The metal arm swung in circles and he crooked his neck, letting out a relieved sigh as it cracked grotesquely. _

_"Ahh… that's better… Well. Roy. You've been pretty patient, for a bastard." He stopped to yawn, and Roy could have sworn he heard something squeal in protest. _

_This was a very strange dream. _

_"So. Um. How's it going, Colonel?"_

_The man crossed his arms as he stopped to ponder the question. "All right, considering."_

_"Considering what?" he asked curiously.  
_

_"Considering you keep bothering me in my damn sleep, that's what."_

_The boy sniggered. "Don't look at me, you're the one dreaming. Maybe that says something about your desperate hidden desire for me…" He stretched his arms again. __"Pedophile…"_

_Even though it was a dream, the accusation made him feel more than mildly disturbed. "Rest assured it's nothing of the sort, Fullmetal. I would sooner eat my boot."_

_"Whatever you say, Flame."_

_"...My subconscious must be exaggerating things. I don't remember you being _quite _this annoying."_

"_Maybe you're just not remembering right. You_ are _getting on in years, after all."_

"_No," he said decisively. "In any case, my sights are set on someone much more impossible to reach than you, Fullmetal." He gave a dramatic sigh._

_Ed seemed unimpressed. _"_You mean Riza? Didn't she go out with you a couple of days ago?"_

"_Yet still unattainable as ever…" his eyes glazed._

_The other shook his head and snickered. "Poor Flame Alchemist… the womanizer who finally got caught by a woman out of his league…"_

_His eyes narrowed before he decided to match the blond blow for blow. "Really? And what about the ignorant, insensitive, not-interested-in-women-yet little kid of an alchemist who can't see what's under his own nose? Is he not 'caught' as well?" __He smirked, knowing that the other probably had no idea what he was talking about, and would be torn between exploding at his "little" taunt and finding out. _As if I don't know about his mechanic girl…

_Yet strangely enough, Edward did neither. He only smiled… as if he knew what Roy was thinking. _

"_You forget, Roy…"_

_Suddenly the man had a vision of a satisfied smile, a carefree laugh, a bloody corpse and a boy wailing his grief to the world and pulling the man down with him. He clutched his head and staggered to his knees, crying out as the memories flooded him._

_And all the while Ed watched him, smile gentle and unyielding._

"…_I'm dead."_

* * *

A/N: 'Ello... been a while. In my defense, I had exams, applications to work on, and my laptop's busted - as in completely internetless, hard-drive-less, and snail's-pace-processing...less. But I'm back!... if only for now.I'm riding off a high - I just got into the best college I applied to!

Anyhoo. This is actually a remake of my other Fullmetal fic, _Sooner or Later_, which I just scrapped today. This is ONLY THE PROLOGUE. I realize it's a bit... weird (hopefully still enjoyable).But if you think this going to be a crackfic... well, you're wrong. There's plenty of Ed and Al and Roy angst to come. So please, give it a chance.

As always, I do not own the marvel that is FMA. I'll leave that to people who actually have a clue.

And yes, Bugs Bunny won the poker game. He's a vewy talented wabbit, after all.


	2. In Which There Is A Sensible Al

_Chapter 1: In Which There Is A Sensible Al, And A Not-So-Sensible Ed_

_

* * *

_"Are you cold?"

Ed tried to hide his shivering. "'Course not, Al. It's just a little chilly, that's all."

"You sure, Brother? You're pale."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Must be all this snow, y'know. Washes the color out."

"Right…"

"I'm _fine, _all right? Fit as a fiddle."

The other glanced at him irritably. "Brother… don't you think you're being a little-"

"Who are you calling SHORT?" Toned down - because it _was_ only Al after all - but still delivered with proper force.

Alphonse sighed. "I didn't say that."

"You were _implying _it!"

Another sigh.

"Brother…" It was remarkable, really, just how much exasperation a faceless voice could put into that one little word. "...You're dumb."

"What? Who are you calling stupider than a bullfrog on drugs?! Take that back!"

"No! You're stupid!"

"_You're_ stupid!"

His brother threw up his hands and growled, seeming to barely hold back his irritation. "I'm not going to club him over the head, I'm not going to club him over the head," he ordered himself in a mutter, just loud enough for Ed's benefit.

Wisely, Ed held his tongue and kept his distance, allowing Alphonse to pass him by on the road. Once Alphonse marched huffily past, Edward Elric's indignant expression was instantly wiped clean, a grim smile appearing in its stead.

_Mission accomplished_. Al was distracted.

Ed wasn't exactly sure when he'd begun using his renown temper and denseness to his own advantage – mainly, to avoid uncomfortable topics – but it had been the norm for quite a while. It hadn't been intentional at first - started out as genuine, really, it was just... well, eventually even Fullmetal could grow out of his temper. Somewhere along the way, the irritation became instinct, the instinct became habit…

And the habit became breakable.

So now he used it as a tool. It was behavioral psychology - after a while in his company, nearly all of those who knew him had a conditioned response to certain actions of his. And so when he wanted to get out of conversations, all Edward needed to do was act touchy or sulky and his companions would roll their eyes, tease him for a bit, and then talk right over his head. It'd been proven more than useful in the past.

This was not infallible by any means – he wasn't half the manipulator Al could be (who could refuse such innocence?) and hell, even _that_ wasn't close to the manipulating Mustang (one of the select few to actually elicit an honest-to-God wrathful reaction from him) - but it served Ed well whenever he could manage it.

It paid to be underestimated.

He trod on, attempting to hide his limp as his legs became a bit too numb for his liking. It wasn't out of pride – well yes it was, rather, (he _was_ Edward Elric after all) but that wasn't all there was to it.

Like many things with Edward, it was mainly out of guilt.

Could his brother eat? Could his brother drink? Could his brother sleep?

Not the way he was, no.

But could he even smile? Could he cry? Could his brother show emotion, express himself, touch…?

_(...Could he feel human?)_

One word - _No_.

And until Al could do all these things, Ed simply refused to give in to the same weaknesses.

--

It was a bit later when he tripped over some unseen rock – there _had _to be a rock, he couldn't have tripped over nothing, that was ridiculous –and promptly fell flat on his face.

He smirked into the ground. _Maybe I should have told Al to stop a little while ago, after all…_

"Brother!" Al hurried over, anger gone. "Are you all right?"

"Just a little tired," came the muffled reply. He really didn't feel like moving. "Felt like stopping, that's all."

"Stupid brother," was all he heard as he found himself picked up by metal arms. "I always have to pick up after you…"

"Sorry Al," he protested and squirmed against the metal chest plate. "You don't have to -"

"Don't even start." His brother shifted the weight in his hands a little in an effort to make it more comfortable. "There, that better?"

Ed smiled helplessly and went limp, seeing that resistance was futile. "Yeah… yeah. I'm fine."

"And next time, don't lie to me when you're not, all right?"

He closed his eyes.

"Thanks, Al…"

As he trod on, Alphonse looked down at the boy in his arms and wondered if he was just imagining it that his brother was avoiding having to answer.

* * *

"Alphonse. Where's Fullmetal?"

He jerked his head to face the colonel, shifting from his spot on the stairs. "What? Oh… Colonel. Hi."

"Where's Fullmetal?" Mustang repeated, a frown now marring his features.

The younger Elric brother waved an armored arm about vaguely. "Oh, you know. Researching."

"Of course," the man sighed in annoyance, bringing a hand to his face. "Tell him I was by, will you? He's due for an assignment."

"…You _could_ just go look for him in the library, you know," he mentioned delicately.

The colonel raised his eyebrows, an almost amused glint in his night-dark eyes.

Al would have gulped had he been able to. "Or… not…"

The colonel smirked as he exited, and it was Al's turn to sigh. _He'll never change…_

"Glad he didn't think to look in here though," he said to himself, turning to look at the closed room where his brother was resting. His metal plates squeaked in protest as he stood and clambered over to the door.

_I think it's time to oil me again…_

_--_

"_Brother, you look exhausted. You need to rest."_

_His brother's eyes were fevered as they continued scanning pages, not even glancing at the metal set of armor standing upright by the desk. "__I can't waste time sleeping__. Al, __I swear I'm getting closer… I can feel it. __"_

"_That's great, Brother, but you promised Winry you wouldn't do this anymore, the try-to-work-yourself-to-exhaustion thing." In an afterthought, he added, "Armstrong and Hawkeye too. _And _Mrs. Hughes. And Lieutenant Ross... And Schiezka, and..." He paused, "...Well, practically everyone, actually." Except for maybe Mustang, but then the Colonel had been unusually quiet about missions since he and Edward returned from their last assignment, so he probably had noticed the weariness in the younger alchemist's face as well.  
_

_The latter didn't stir from his seat, pen still moving, and he had to marvel at Ed's ability to multitask. __Because of his brother's short temper and frequent whininess, it was all too easy to forget that there __actually __was a reason the other boy was called 'genius' and 'child prodigy'. _

_"Correction - I told them that I'll _try _not to do the work-myself-to-exhaustion thing. I didn't say anything about actually _doing _it. And besides, as you can see…" he very unsuccessfully tried to muffle a yawn, "I'm _clearly_ not tired. There is no exhaustion component involved."_

_Alphonse didn't know who Ed thought he was fooling. While it may have been five years since he'd been in a human body, even the suit of armor could plainly see the weariness playing across his brother's features - the paleness dancing on the skin, the bags looming under the eyes… _

_But Alphonse Elric knew his brother, and he knew that the only way to win was through patience. Al sighed and went to a different alcove in the library, determined to wait out his dimwitted sibling._

_...Twenty minutes later, the elder Elric's pen was still heard to be flying across the page. Forty minutes later, it was much the same, and Al was starting to get worried – he'd never had to wait so long before. _

_It took exactly one hour and seventeen minutes for the scribbling noises to become erratic, and twelve minutes more before they finally abruptly faded to nothing. Shaking his head at the lengthy wait, Al crossed back to his brother's room to encounter the expected sight – Ed slumped across the table, cheek squashed against an open notebook, both arms slack by his side._

_Al would have rolled his eyes at the familiar spectacle if he could, but being hampered from doing so (only due to the fact that he didn't really have eyes to begin with, mind you), resigned to an exaggerated shrug to the empty room before gently scooping his sleeping brother up in his arms and walking back to their sleeping quarters..._

--

...Where Ed continued to sleep, Al saw in relief.

Truly, his brother was a peculiar creature of extremes – one moment fervently working on whatever snagged his interest, the next one out like a log. He didn't even seem to react to Al's thudding metal footsteps as the body of armor moved to sit next to his legs, which was unusual, for Ed was most of the time a relatively light sleeper - unless he was on trains or some other mode of transportation, that is.

The exhaustion must have been too much this time.

_Like every _other_ time this happens._

He shifted, accidentally bumping against the other boy's metal knee. A quick nervous glance downward revealed that the other didn't so much as stir, and he breathed (or not breathed – it was hard to keep track) again.

It was safe. Ed was asleep…

_He looks so small_, Alphonse thought, invisible heart clenching as he watched his brother's form get swallowed by the large bed. Short and thin, face almost as pale as the bed sheets, it was no wonder Ed was so often mistaken to be the younger of the two of them.

He winced inwardly. No matter how tired he was, Edward always had the energy to get mad at anyone who mentioned the sensitive topic of his height. _Better stay out of that train of thought, or he might somehow sense it and wake up... _

Still. Al couldn't help being worried. Lately, Ed's been even worse than usual, foregoing sleep - and food, even! - for journals and books.

_But if he says he's close to getting our bodies back, though… w__ho can blame him?

* * *

_

Mustang pursed his lips as he stared out the window into the bustling colorless street below. _Where could he be?_

Unlike what one might suppose, Fullmetal was rarely late to his meetings with the Colonel. Sure, he had his obnoxious days when he would enjoy making his superior wait - but Fullmetal hated wasting time and hated giving Mustang excuses to retaliate even more. Usually the brat was right on time, more than ready to leave as soon as possible but somehow always managing to jump into yet another unnecessarily heated debate with the Colonel, one in which Mustang typically came out on top and Fullmetal was almost always forced to yet another overly complex (and yes, sometimes pointless) task.

Their routine was predictable, yes, Roy had to admit that to himself… and yet somehow it was never boring. Almost enjoyable, even.

At the very least, it broke the monotony of doing paperwork.

"I'm here!" a pant came from behind him, and Roy spun his chair around slowly with a distinctly ominous (but classy, he told himself) air.

Let the games begin.

"Why so late, Fullmetal?"

"I -"

"- Got lost inside a shoe?"

"No-"

"- Was stepped on? _Again_?"

"You-"

He cut the other off with a melodramatic sigh, not even giving him a chance to protest. Oh, but the shorty had this coming. Those were twenty minutes of procrastiation and boredom that Mustang could never get back.

"I should have known that was the problem," he said, sighing. "I keep meaning to put out a memo for people to watch where they're going - just in case they trip on some alchemist running underfoot, you see - but I never get around to doing it. What with all of your mistakes that I'm obligated to fix, being your superior, I'm afraid it's simply not _high _on my priority list. It's a shame, I must say… it really has become a hazard lately."

"...Shut up asshole," Fullmetal retorted as he sat down on the couch.

Roy looked over at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. This was certainly not the fiery reaction he'd come to expect from the touchy alchemist, especially after such an obvious, unsubtle attack of this caliber. There was no throbbing vein, no flushed complexion, no furious comeback…

"You all right there, shorty? Don't tell me someone _actually_ stepped on you," he said, half amused, and perhaps even somewhat concerned. It wasn't often that the older Elric hissed when he could yell.

"Stop calling me short!" Yet that too, was oddly discolored and subdued. Ed sighed, and Roy found that to be strange as well. Fullmetal was not much for sighing. "Can't you be slightly more mature about this?" the other fumed. "I'm trying to tell you something!"

Mustang sat back, intrigued now despite himself. You knew there had to be something large-scale afoot when Edward Elric was talking about maturity, of all people...

But he had not become a colonel to baby his subordinates - not even fifteen-year-old geniuses. "You can tell me after you've returned from East City. Here." He tossed a thick folder into Ed's lap, ignoring the wince and the poisonous glare directed at him. Instead, he sipped at his coffee, enjoying the strong flavor.

_Delicious. _Victory added a certain something to it, Roy reflected.

Edward placed the heavy folder back on the man's desk extra carefully, obviously barely restraining himself from throwing it right in his superior's smug mug. _That _certainly would not be appropriate behavior from a subordinate.

"That's just it. I'm not going."

Roy nearly choked on his coffee, but managed to contain himself with some dignity. _Take it easy, Colonel. _"Not going, Fullmetal?" his tone was pleasant, with just a _hint _of menace. "Have you perhaps forgotten your obligations to the military? If there any doubts, I can assure you that your contract has yet to expire. "

"I have obligations to other people too, Colonel," Fullmetal replied, just as civilly. "Not only the military."

"And what do you propose to do while reneging on your responsibilities, if I may ask?" he said smoothly, silkily.

...Almost dangerously, one might say.

"I'm…" the miniature alchemist appeared to be fumbling for words. "I'm taking a break."

_...Is he serious? _"Break? From what, pintsize?" he shot out, a little harsher, hoping to stir _some_ sense of normalcy into the scene. "Sitting around Central with nothing to do? Sleeping as long as you want?" He narrowed his eyes. "Researching and_ not getting anywhere_?"

Fullmetal didn't flinch, he noticed. The boy was improving.

"This is your first mission in a _month_, Fullmetal. _That_ was your 'break'. You'd better have a more convincing excuse if you want me to actually let you off."

The golden gaze stared at the ground - another sign that something was up. "I know. I just… there are some things I have to finish up."

_Finish up? _"What things?" his voice softened very slightly.

"It doesn't matter," Ed said, almost angrily, but the strange irritation was gone as swiftly as it had come. "I'm not going."

"Is it the Philosopher's Stone?" he asked, ignoring the obvious attempt to change the subject. He leaned forwards in his chair, for once not a trace of mockery audible in his words.

Ed met his gaze. "I've caught on to something… something that - " he caught himself and looked away. "It's... nothing yet. But really I just need... I just want more time with Al. He's so lonely and bored he's trying to teach the cats blackjack."

The military man frowned, unmoved. "It's not as if you ever leave him behind when you go on your missions, and I'm sure he won't be bored when he isn't stuck in Central for a change. Get your quality time on the train." There was something wrong here, something Roy couldn't quite put his gloved finger on.

"It's only for a little while, Colonel," he wheedled, sounding a lot more like the teenager begging to take the car for a drive than an underling requesting for time off. It gave Mustang a bizarre feeling of reality, as if he should start lecturing on the value of responsiblity and issue a curfew and while he was at it make the boy mow the lawn. "You can give me more time, can't you? It's not like I'm resigning or anything."

He didn't let his sympathy show on his face, and Edward wouldn't have been able to notice the softening of his voice. "Fullmetal, I give you enough leeway as it is. Now come on, be a good boy and do what you're told and I'll see if I can get you some time off when you get back."

If he had expected Edward to splutter how patronizing Mustang was and eventually take the offer and be done with this nonsense, he was let down. Ed rose from the sofa, seeming almost disappointed. "I'm not going, Colonel," he stated flatly. "That's that. I just thought you should know."

He started for the door, and Mustang stared after him. He was admittedly taken aback; not only was the abnormally civilized, firework-free conversation grinding on his nerves, but Fullmetal was disobeying him _completely_ (as opposed to the usual grudging, reluctant, partial obedience), without even giving him the satisfaction of a decent argument. It wasn't as if he would ever hold Ed back if there was cause, and Ed knew it - should have known it, anyway. Hadn't he always encouraged the boy in his research? Hadn't he done his best to get him leads on the Philosopher's Stone? Hadn't he fed his hope? At the very least, he was entitled to a semi-believable reason!

And Mustang should have been on his feet, should have loudly demanded an explanation or given the boy a piece of his mind.

Yet the way the boy spoke just... threw him off, somehow. He didn't even know why.

_Something is wrong._

"Fullmetal?" he finally let out, just as Edward was turning the handle.

He stopped, still facing the door. "Yeah?"

Mustang hesitated. What to do, what to say…

"...Is everything all right?" he found himself asking, perplexing himself even as the words came out.

_Now why did I do that? _He'd meant to go on an impressive lecture on subordinate disobedience and the… _disadvantages_ of it… (something to do with being used as target practice by the Flame Alchemist) but the question had slipped out inadvertently.

Too late to start on that now though.

Ed turned around slowly, suddenly inexplicably grinning that trademark eye-crinkling grin of his which the Colonel had so rarely witnessed - and even more rarely been on its receiving end. It was a wide, beaming smile, as if Edward had been waiting for exactly those words, and it brightly lit the stuffy room as if the sun had all of a sudden decided to show its face. Mustang wasn't sure whether he should feel humbled, concerned, annoyed, or all three.

"Colonel… things couldn't be_ better_."

* * *

"Hey Alphonse!"

Al turned his metal head. "Oh hi, Lieutenant Havoc. What are you doing here?"

The military man grinned and mock-saluted before slumping liquidly on the sofa across from the suit of armor. "Visiting for the sake of visiting, my friend. How's it going?"

He shrugged. "Ed and I are fine."

"Good, good." The man seemed oddly tense. "Speak of the devil, where _is_ your brother?"

Al moved protectively in front of the door. "He's busy."

Busy sleeping, that is. It was another one of these rare moments, and Al wasn't going to let anyone disturb him. Brother was driving himself hard enough as it was.

Havoc's eyes flicked to the door, then back at Al, but he grinned and made a short, dismissive gesture. "That's all right, I don't need to see him." He almost seemed relieved – at any rate, he put up his legs on the small table in front of him and looked extremely comfortable. "We've been missing him these last couple of weeks back at headquarters."

Al was puzzled. "What do you mean? He was there just yesterday."

"Well, er, yes, but he was in a hurry. Didn't stop to talk much." His smile was easy.

"Oh." That seemed right.

"Say, he does seem very busy lately. You got a new lead on something?"

"Um, sort of. I think. I don't really know."

The lieutenant reclined against the couch. "See, that's one thing I don't understand."

Al cocked his helmet to the side. It was oddly cute. "What?"

"Well, aren't you _both_ alchemists? Why are you letting him do all the work alone?"

"I used to help, but Brother doesn't want me to anymore. He says he's responsible for us and that I shouldn't have to get involved."

Havoc shook his head slowly, frowning. "But I'd think you would already be involved. You follow him on all his military ventures, you're an accomplished alchemist of your own…"

_And we're both trying to get our bodies back. _Alphonse shifted uneasily. "Yes, but he doesn't want me to," he repeated, for lack of something better to say.

"Why not? I imagine all his research will go along much faster if he gets some help." He beamed at him disarmingly.

Al would have frowned if he had had the capability to do so. "I… I don't know."

"Oh well… there must be a good reason he doesn't want help from you. Right? He's the great Fullmetal, after all."

"Uh, yeah. Of course." …_There has to be._

Seemingly satisfied, Havoc rose up. "Well, I gotta leave. Give my greetings to Edward, Al."

The other looked thoughtful (or as thoughtful as a piece of armor could ever appear) as he waved distractedly. "Okay… Bye."

* * *

_I need a vacation_, Havoc mused. _Riza and Falman got one, Breda went on one just last year, and Roy - well, Mustang doesn't_ need _to go anywhere to do whatever he feels like doing, but still._

He had just walked past Fullmetal's quarters when his stomach growled. _Wonder if Al and the boss might have anything for a hungry lieutenant…_

"Hey!" he let out automatically as someone rudely pushed past him. "Watch where you're going!"

The man paused, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the man's face before the other continued on his way.

He froze, the cigar falling from his mouth and sputtering out on the ground.

_Did I see - was that…?_

Havoc shook his head - he must have been more exhausted than he thought. _Nah, that couldn't have been… _

_That guy only looked a little like me, that's all. No way it was…_

His weary mind wondered exactly why, then, he was running back to the man and grabbing him by the collar. "Excuse me," he half-apologized for the unseemly behavior. He just had to see the guy's face again.

The man turned, and Havoc wondered how he ever could've thought that there were any similarities between him and the stranger. The man – well, more a teenager, really – was skinny, with long black hair that flowed freely down his back and dark eyes that glinted with a strange light.

He took his hand back from the boy's shoulder. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were… someone else…"

"Happens all the time." The boy smirked, seemingly amused about something, and walked away without another word.

Havoc ran his fingers over his short hair. _Well, that was embarrassing._

_I really should get that vacation…__

* * *

_

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews! I felt so encouraged I went ahead and put this up. Of course, it would be a letdown if now I don't get as many reviews... I'm glad you weren't deterred by the prologue - I've no idea how I came up with that... .

I hope you guys liked this chapter too. Do you have any questions? Hopefully that proved to you that this ain't going to be no crackfic... although I have to admit that yes, the "I'm dead" part in the prologue might have been a clue...

The best still lies ahead, though - promise.

Until next time,

_Rockpaperscissor_.

**(revised on 9/10/08)  
**


	3. In Which Riza Cannot Keep A Secret

_**Chapter 2: In Which Riza Cannot Keep A Secret, o**__**r **__**Chapter 2: In Which Mustang Puts It Together**_

* * *

_"Mom! Mom! Look what I made!"_

_She smiled at him. "It's beautiful, Edward." The little boy giggled as she ruffled his blond locks, pleased at the praise. "But…"_

"_Huh?" he looked up. "But what?" _

_His mother was no longer there, her body replaced by a terrible grinning creature. _

_"...Mom?" _

_"But why couldn't you make _me _right?!"_

* * *

"Brother?"

Ed sighed and finally looked away from his journals. "What is it?"

"…Can I help you?"

"Sure. Hand me that book over there."

Al complied, even while saying, "That was _not_ what I meant, Brother."

He rolled his eyes as he turned the page. "I don't need any help. I'm fine."

"But I can help you research! Maybe if we work together, we can get our bodies back faster!"

"Al, I know what I'm looking for. Besides, I would have to look over everything you do just in case you missed something, and you know I'm too lazy to do that," Edward smiled crookedly.

He slammed his hand on the table, and a couple of books at the other end of the table promptly fell off. Alphonse might have felt guilty about it had his brother not been so damn _infuriating. _"You're acting as if I don't know what we're searching for, as if I don't know alchemy! Brother, I'm not an_ idiot!_"

"I didn't say you were," Ed was uncharacteristically calm as he replied, turning another page. "I'm saying it's not worth the effort."

"Well maybe _I_ think it _is_!"

"There are better things that you can do. It doesn't make sense that both of us should waste time on this crap."

"You're not making any sense, Brother. And besides, why should it be-"

"Look, Al," he interjected, finally looking upwards at him, "I promised you I'll get you back to normal, and I'm keeping that promise. Really."

Al let out a scoff before the tone of his voice changed to something softer and far more desperate. "That's what you tell me, but how _can_ you keep it if you're hurting yourself in the process? You barely sleep, barely eat… it's only because of me that you're taking any care of yourself at all!"

To his brother's surprise, Edward only nodded.

"I know. That's what I need you for. To remind me. I don't need anything else."

The armor visibly drooped. "But I can help…"

Ed had to stand to put a hand on Alphonse's shoulder, which would probably have been funny had Alphonse not felt so useless.

"Alphonse," Edward smiled a breathtaking smile, and his golden eyes, centered on Al, seemed to almost glow with secret warmth. "Little brother… you're helping me just by being here, just by being yourself. Get out and play, Al, be a kid. Leave all the stupid Stone stuff to me." He shoved him in the general direction of the door. "Seriously, Al, _go_. Find yourself a damn cat to play with. I want you to have fun, 'kay? For both of us."

The body of armor hesitated. "Are you sure…?"

Edward fell back to his chair with a satisfied _thump_, confident that he had won this argument. "It's _my_ responsibility, Al. Don't worry about it."

He looked back to his notes. "Close the door when you leave."

* * *

Al slumped against the wall outside Ed's workplace, not caring if anyone saw him.

Because...

Because now he knew for sure. It had begun a couple of months ago, this strange, secretive behavior, and he had the bad feeling things had yet to come to a close. Moreover, he was getting the distinct feeling that he wouldn't like it when they did.

True, Al didn't know _what_ was going on, much less why or when or how, and he was far from certain about what to do, but he could see it happening - little things that together were like a neon sign.

He wasn't an idiot.

Edward had been in control of their argument. Edward hadn't been the one to get riled up - no, Edward had played him like a _violin_. Like a child.

...Not only that, but Edward had _refused _him. _Him_. The little brother Ed could never say no to.

And that's how Al knew.

Ed was hiding something...

* * *

Riza Hawkeye took off her sunglasses as she stepped out of her car, pocketing them in her vest. It was a bright, sunny day, with pigeons crooning loudly from the ramparts of Headquarters and the oily sweet smells of street vendors pervading the air insistently.

...She couldn't wait to get inside.

"First Lieutenant!"

"Edward…?" she said his name in surprise, noticing the red-cloaked boy march purposefully her way. Instinctively, she looked over his shoulder, to see… nothing. "Where's Alphonse?" To see Ed without his brother was a rare novelty, and the question was practically begging to be asked.

He shrugged. "The usual. Collecting stray cats, pretending he's not...hiding them in his chestplate, hoping I wouldn't notice when they wail at being caged inside a metal box…" Ed shook his head as if to regain some purpose, and put his hands in his pockets. "But that isn't why I need to see you. Hawkeye…" he straightened, as if bracing himself, "I need a favor."

"A favor?" Riza felt something being promptly shoved into her hands. It was heavy. "What's this?"

Was it just her, or did Edward look pale? "A letter. I need you to deliver it."

"Can't you just send it in the mail?" she asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. She could appreciate the boy's courage in coming to her - as opposed to Havoc or Fury or the others - but it wasn't as if she had much spare time on her hands.

He shook his head. "I need someone I trust."

Well. That was flattering. A smile tugged about her lips, softening her usually stern gaze. "Who's the recipient?"

A car honked at them as it flew past, the red face of the driver popping out of the window to yell at them, "Kids should get off the bleepin' road!" before remembering too late that it would be wise to watch aforementioned road, thereby crashing into a small stand of guavas, causing the frustrated owner of the said guavas to throw up his hands and declare that the entire world was out to get him and that he'd always liked avocados better anyhow.

"Alphonse," Edward answered her question, not the slightest bit flinching from the loud commotion. "At least," he corrected himself, "Al should read it first."

She blinked. "Can't you give it to him yourself?"

_Why…? _

The young alchemist looked away, finding some rolling guavas to stare at. "It's not... he's not supposed to know about it yet."

The silence that followed his words was strangely grave.

"Edward…" she said his name slowly, "What is this?"

It wasn't that Ed wanted someone to do him a favor, though that was rare in and of itself. It wasn't that he seemed to want to hide something from his brother.

No, wait - actually, that was it.

_Since when does Ed go behind Al's back for favors? _

His gaze came to rest on her face, large golden eyes pleading. "It's in case… in case something happens to me. I want him to understand, so I... wrote it."

"'It'…?"

"I know you won't open it. Please, Hawkeye… just promise you'll give it to him if anything happens."

"If anything happens?" She felt like a parrot, dumbly repeating his words, and yet she couldn't think clearly enough to say anything else.

He spoke simply. "Yes."

"Yes…" she muttered to herself, as if testing the mettle of the word. "Is something… _going_ to happen, Ed?"

His face was innocent, yet she was much too disturbed to believe it. "No – well, not that I _know_, Lieutenant Hawkeye, I only want a safeguard if it does. Just in case. I mean, you know how trouble seems to follow me wherever I go."

"True." She could readily admit he was only being honest. Whether he caused it himself or was simply an innocent magnet for it, trouble did follow Edward Elric wherever he went.

Riza understood – he was only being prudent.

Still, even if that was the case… "Why now?"

"I…" he looked away again. "I don't want Al to be left with nothing. It's selfish of me to keep risking my life without... without making sure he'll be okay if I'm not there."

Something must have shaken him, she concluded, to make him so… open. Had he another life and death encounter recently? Riza couldn't remember. "Don't worry," she tried to reassure him. "If anything does happen - not that it will - we'll take care of him. I'll make sure of it."

"You'll do it, though?" The golden orbs were hopeful as they glanced up at her, and there was a grim sort of tension, expectation, in his face.

Riza couldn't refuse him. Her hand moved to grab his shoulder almost of its own volition, and she nearly shook from the effort it took not to hug him close and protect him from anything that could cause him harm.

_It's in moments like this that I realize_ _just how much we force him to grow up… _

"I will, Edward. I promise – Al will read his letter."

* * *

"- _Why __you __couldn't make me right!"_

_He recoiled, wrapping his arms around himself in grief and shame. He could never stop it. _

_Never… _

"_Brother?" A new voice joined them, startling Ed so much he nearly jumped out of his skin. _

_Hm, this was different… usually he started waking up by this point... _

_And then his eyes widened as he realized who had spoken. _"_No," he whispered in weak denial. _

No…

"_Tsk, tsk, Edward, play nice," the thing that used to be his mother grinned grotesquely. Her - it's - voice was high and scratchy and breathy __and n__ot like Mom at all. __"He's only what you made of him, after all. Look at your brother, Ed. Look him in the eye and see how beautiful __he is!" _

_He did so fearfully, knowing what was to come and dreading it with all his heart. _

"_Al," he breathed. _

_Alphonse. _

_There he was, his beloved little brother, in his true, perfect flesh-and-blood body… _

W_hich was peeling off and decaying, bit by rotten bit. _

"_Brother? What's wrong?" came the achingly sweet voice from decomposing lips, and skin flaked off ruddy cheeks in grotesque ribbons as the creature - his _brother _- attempted to smile. _

_Worms were eating the dim dark eyes, and suddenly that face wasn't smiling anymore. "What… what's wrong with me? Brother…? Brother! What... What did you do? __What did you _do _to me, Brother? WHAT DID YOU DO?" _

"ALPHONSE!"

Edward jerked up in his bed, panting as he lay there drenched in his own sweat, hands tightened into fists.

"That's not going to happen," he told himself, gasping heavily.

_I will _never_ let that happen._

* * *

"Colonel Mustang," she greeted.

The man acknowledged her with a nod, continuing the brusque pace. "First Lieutenant. Are we ready for South Base?"

Yes, the routine inspection…"The car's up front, sir."

"Good, good," he muttered distractedly as they left the building. True to her word, the vehicle was there, looking fairly important and official in all its black technological glory.

"Something wrong?" she questioned, starting up the car.

He settled comfortably in the back, crossing his arms. "No more than the usual."

"Ah," she exhaled quietly.

They were silent after that, both wrapped snugly in their own thoughts.

After a while, Roy got tired of staring out the window and began studying the inside of the rather uncomfortable backseat. His attention caught on a considerable large pile of papers beside him, and without sparing a thought for protocol (or privacy, for that matter) he started rifling through it, more in search for some sort of diversion than any actual curiosity. "Doing paperwork in your own free time as well, I see," he murmured to himself in amusement.

"Hmm?" Hawkeye fixed her eyes on the rearview mirror.

"Nothing, nothing," was his hurried reply. He shuffled the papers back in order, and something previously unnoticed fell out.

_Huh. _

He picked it up.

It was a large manila envelope. Roy turned it over.

...Nothing. No name, no date. Yet the package was obviously full – the damn thing was _heavy_.

"What do you keep in here?" he half-wondered, half-asked.

"What?" Her sharp stare flicked up to him. Seeing the object he waved in his hand, she seemed slightly at a loss. "Please leave that alone, Colonel."

"Who's it from? Secret admirer?" he joked, quelling any foolish sentiment he might have had at the thought.

"No."

"Oh, come on," he teased. "A beautiful woman such as yourself cannot want for worshippers."

Her face was impassive, though a slight blush painted her cheeks (_Score! _Roy thought in satisfaction).

"Please leave that alone, sir."

Now he was truly curious. "Who's it from?"

"No one," she avoided his inquisitive gaze.

"Who, Lieutenant Hawkeye." His tone was slightly authoritative - just the sort of voice he knew she wouldn't be able to stand against.

…It was a military thing.

"Edward," she revealed reluctantly. "Fullmetal."

Roy had the sudden suspicion that his chin had just dented the floor.

"Ah. Ahhh," he gaped like a fish, unable to find anything to say.

But he smirked all of a sudden, finding - as always - the more devious side to things. "So the little midget has a _crush_…" various wily schemes ran through his mind, and a chuckle fell from his lips. "Impressive. I never would have guessed he had it in him."

Riza was being suspiciously quiet. "It's not like that…."

"But you haven't even opened it yet, Hawkeye." Mustang interrupted her, shaking his head in amusement. "The least you could do is hear out the brat. It's called common courtesy, Lieutenant. Imagine the trouble Fullmetal went through to write it – there must be a _novel_ for you in here." He flicked his fingers against the envelope, testing its thickness.

"It's not," she said softly, watching the road.

He stopped, having not caught her words. "Hm?"

"It's not for me."

His eyes snapped back to her, curious. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed as she made a right turn. "He gave it to me… so that I would give it to someone else."

"You're only an intermediary? Harsh..." He paused for a while, reflecting on the injustice done to the lovely First Lieutenant. "Who's it for, then? That mechanic girl he likes?"

The answer was again reluctantly drawn out of her. "It's for..."

"Yes...?" he prodded.

"It's for Alphonse."

His face was suddenly blank.

"...What?"

"It's for Alphonse."

The temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees.

"Alphonse," Mustang said quietly.

Riza Hawkeye - fearless trigger-happy first lieutenant -somehow seemed to shrink without moving a muscle, not daring to say a word.

"Alphonse," he repeated, nearly pleasantly, still speaking in that same almost-whisper which was somehow far more terrifying than a shout could ever be. "And by that you mean, of course, Fullmetal's brother_?_ The one who doesn't leave his side for more than five minutes if he could help it? The one Fullmetal drags to each one of his ridiculous escapades?"

His tone hardened. "_That_ Alphonse, Lieutenant? This is for _him_?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice, hands tight on the steering wheel, knowing she had just failed her task. He was much quicker on the uptake than she had been, knew Fullmetal's mind better than she did…

Silence, and she could almost hear him trying to maintain his cool facade.

Finally –

"Lieutenant, I am disappointed in you." His voice was icy. "Why didn't you report this to me?"

"It was just in case something happened, Colonel," she tried to explain. "With the dangers he's exposed to, Edward is more than entitled to take whatever measures he feels are necessary. He made me promise – sir, don't open it! Sir!"

The colonel ignored her, mercilessly undoing the gluey flap with a white gloved finger. "What have we here, Fullmetal?" he murmured to himself, ignoring the distressed woman in the seat in front of him.

He shook the envelope brusquely, opening face down…

And into his lap, beside several scribbled pieces of paper, fell a silver watch.

* * *

_...Well, not that I __know, Lieutenant Hawkeye. I only want a safeguard if it does. _

_Just in case._

* * *

A/N: Uh-oh, what's Ed done now? Guess you'll have to wait for it...

Anyhoo. This might be the last update in a while, since after spring break everything's exams, exams, exams... although it is dependent on your reviews, so don't be shy... Thank you for last chapter's reviews too, because they really helped me continue. I'm glad I made some of you laugh, although I really don't know how these things come to my head. I swear by all that is dear to me that I do not play poker, do not play blackjack, do not eat guavas or avocados... call it a fool's inspiration, I suppose, because it certainly can't be anything else.

About Metamorphosis (my HP fic, for those who don't know)... the computer where all the chapters are stored is kinda down, so I haven't been able to get anything out of it. Expect an update soon, though.

And no way, no how do I own Fullmetal Alchemist, much as I'd like to... because something that cool can never be owned by someone who constantly loses her cell phone...

**(Revised on June 26, 2006)**


	4. In Which Innocence Dies

_Chapter 3: _

_In Which Innocence Dies_

* * *

(Warning: cussing and much angst.)

(...Just so you know.)

* * *

Last chapter:

_Whether he caused it himself or was simply an innocent magnet for it, trouble _did _follow Edward Elric wherever he went._

_"Something wrong, sir?"_

_"...I am disappointed in you."_

_And into his lap, beside several scribbled pieces of paper, fell a silver watch._

Ed wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and blew stained golden strands away from his face before returning to survey his work with a critical eye.

_Nearly done_, he noted.

He took up the brush again. Al was waiting.

_A couple more drops should do the trick…_

* * *

Mustang stared at the State Alchemist watch for a moment, stunned. Aghast.

...Terrified.

_What the hell are you _doing_, Fullmetal?!_

Riza peered into her rearview mirror, attempting to see what had gotten her Colonel so quiet. "What is it?"

He hastily grabbed the first page of the letter, grip hard as he viciously scanned the first couple of lines for a clue, an explanation, _anything -_

"_...If all went according to plan ...__You might be mad..."_

It was all he needed.

"Stop the car! Stop the_ FUCKING CAR!_"

* * *

His brother's voice sounded tired as it reached him from within the huge room.

"Get in, Al. Come on."

He timidly toddled inside, the door shutting behind him. Had there been someone to watch, they might have been intrigued by how well an emotionless suit of armor could remind one of a six-year-old on their first day of school.

To say he was nervous would be putting it mildly. "Why's it so dark in here, Brother?"

"Don't worry about it," was the quiet reply.

"But – AHH!" Alphonse yelped. Something was grabbing his arm…!

"Geeze, calm _down_, Al. It's just me." There was an obvious irritation inherent in Ed's words, but Al thought he spoke much too quietly and gently. It was an unsettling change from his usual loud voice.

But it made sense. This was _it_, after all.

The hand was leading him somewhere. "Here, lie down here."

The suit of armor did so slowly, and the sound of metal hitting floor echoed ominously across the room.

He listened uneasily as the vibrations in his iron plates slowly faded. "Are you sure…?" he left the question unfinished.

Ed's words were confident, although just as quiet as before. "I'm sure. Listen, Al, it's just to… test out my theory. Nothing will happen if I'm wrong this time."

Al barely stopped himself from sitting up. He was so _antsy_. "You didn't let me see the theory, though. I still want to check what it is you're doing."

Frustration, almost bordering on desperation. "The theory's fine, okay? I looked it over like a million times. Don't you trust me?"

He glared into the darkness. "That's a stupid question, Brother. I just don't want us to make a mistake because we were too eager again. Do you want to lose another leg?"

"I won't." And when Ed sounded like that, there was no point in arguing.

"You better not." Some shuffling noises reverberated from the walls, and Al really wished there was some light to see by. His brother had his oddities, no question about that… "But why in here? In these ruins?"

"It isn't that bad, Al - most of the infrastructure is still standing. Besides, Lab Five is the only place around here large enough, and it's isolated to boot." He paused to cough hoarsely, adding afterward, "We don't want the authorities finding us out, Al."

"I know." He thought for a while, then, listening to Ed's scrabbles across the floor and vaguely wondering what the older Elric was doing. Whatever it was, it made him sound so distracted... "Brother?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I'm scared," he admitted. "What if something _does_ happen?"

Edward's tone brooked no argument as he replied, "Then you get your body back."

Yet he couldn't help worrying…

And Alphonse Elric had always been vicious when worried.

"But what about the price, Brother?" he shot out. "What can possibly be equivalent exchange for my body - my arms? My legs? My organs? My _soul?_! I can remember how well this worked _last_ time, _Brother_!"

The silence was so tense it could have been cut with a knife.

Alphonse readied himself for a torrent of the typical retaliation from that short-tempered older brother of his - badmouthing, yelling, etc. Ed was going to be angry at him for doubting him, but it's been a long time since Al would let Ed's idiocy rule unchallenged, especially with something like this...!

It was coming any second now. Not for the first time, Alphonse wished he had normal ears so that he would be able to cover them – even without a body, Ed's shouts could make his head spin.

...His brother was very talented.

Oh, _shoot_. He could already hear him sucking up air... preparing to yell…

Yup, here it was -

"I...I know you do."

He stilled, not believing his nonexistent ears.

…_Huh?_

"I promised you that I'll get you back to normal, and I'm not going back on my word."

_He's not angry…_

"This time, _it will work_. You won't have to pay anything, Al… Really. I'll make _sure_ of it. Whatever happens, you'll be safe. I promise."

There was a strange, decided note to his brother's voice, Alphonse noticed… a disturbing one, as if Ed knew something he didn't. It scared him – and of course, it wasn't helped by the near-whisper the elder Elric was using to speak, which by itself was enough to fairly freak him out.

"What about you though?" he asked shrewdly, knowing all too well how utterly _stupid _his genius brother could be. "…You're going to be fine, aren't you?"

He thought he heard a noise like laughter, but Al couldn't be sure. "It's not going to be a walk in the park, but I'm not going to lose any more limbs, Al, I promise. Not with this array. Now… well, you ready?"

"N-now? Is - is that it, Brother?" he stuttered.

"Yup. You're going to get your body back now, Al!" His brother's enthusiasm shone through the dark gloom then, voice once more boisterous and noisy and making Al's nervousness vanish like one of Mustang's flames in the rain. Ed was _back_. "All those times - everything we did… everyone… it's going to be worth it! You hear me, Al? Everything!"

_...Everything?_

"Okay then!" he couldn't hold back his excitement anymore. "Let's do it, Brother!"

He could almost feel Ed grin at him from across the darkness. "See ya later, Al."

* * *

It is a well known fact that Alphonse Elric had always been vicious when worried.

...Some, however, will argue that the youngest Elric was not quite vicious enough.

* * *

Mustang _ran_. He never stumbled or slackened his pace, as if there was something precious to be lost if he allowed himself to falter.

Which, actually, there was.

_Fullmetal, don't do you _dare_ do anything stupid…_

* * *

He didn't have much time. It was taking a great deal out of him to even hold his head up, much less to glance at his waiting brother one last time…

_Let him be the last thing I see before -_

He shut his eyes briefly – _breathe –_ then opened them to the beckoning darkness. His fingers shook, and he had to clench and unclench them to make them respond.

He probably should have been more cautious. He shouldn't have drawn out so much of it, perhaps… _but_ _I didn't want to take a chance_. _Better to give it all than regret it later, right?_

Treacherous shoulders suddenly trembled as he slowly clapped his hands together, and he had to stop right in the middle of completing the equation.

…_I'm an idiot._ Cursing his weakness, he let out a shaky (too heavy) breath before starting again.

"...Brother?" Al must have heard him, for his voice was suddenly full of worry, and he could hear the metal plates shifting against the tiles as the suit of armor attempted to rise to its feet.

…His little brother really did know him too well.

"Brother? Are you okay -"

Edward spat out blood – _not in that direction, or everything will be for nothing_ - wincing at the loud wet noise it made as it splattered against the floor.

_Damn it… looks like time's up_.

"Brother!" Ed could hear the frown, the fear. "Don't tell me you -"

The clap echoed like a gunshot.

* * *

"In here!" Roy shouted as he kicked an entrance in the rubble.

"Coming!"

* * *

As his hands pressed against the floor, Edward wondered if Al will hate him.

* * *

"_Do you really think we'll get our bodies back, Brother?"_

"_Hells yeah, Al! You'll see!"_

"_But what if it's… not worth it? What if people get hurt?"_

"_We won't get our bodies back like that. We'll find another way."_

"_Another way? Where no one gets hurt?... You really think we could?"_

"'_Course, Al. I won't let anyone get hurt. Promise. __Now come on, let's get going. I think this is our stop..."_

* * *

There was a flash, and the world was gone in a blaze of blue.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter this time, but... a lot happened, didn't it? Roy cussed, Al tried to cuss (does 'shoot' count?), and Ed... didn't cuss? WTF?

Thanks to everyone for all their reviews. They were awesome. I feel happy... :) For some reason, I'm expecting many reviews for this chapter too...but maybe it's because I know XX is going to XXX and XXXX next time...

In any case, please don't shatter my hopeful delusions.

To FMA! (Which I don't own, because I just, well, don't...)

_Rockpaperscissor._


	5. In Which Time Wins The Race

**_Chapter 4: In Which Time Wins The Race_**

* * *

_You idiot._

_Stupid brother._

_You can't do this to me! I'm not that important!_

_You stupid… stupid brother!_

_…I'm not worth so much…_

* * *

_Damn it_, he cursed inwardly, barely restraining himself from punching the wall in frustration. _Is the entire building full of dead ends?!_

Riza's eyes were as impassive as his. "We're going to have to find another way in, sir."

* * *

_Damn it._

Al drifted.

_Where am I?_

"…_Me! Take me!"_

Wherever it was, it felt rather cozy…

"_I don't care! Dammit, just take me instead!" _

He scrunched up his forehead. _What…?_

"_Me, you stupid bastard!"_

There it was again. That shouting. _Is Mom taking us to the fair? _he wondered hazily. _I think I'd rather go fishing. _

_Come on, Ed, forget the fair. Let's go fishing._

"_- back, you hear me! Leave… him…_ _ALONE!" _

_No… I don't want to be alone…

* * *

_

"Which way, Colonel?" Riza breathed out as their footsteps thudded in the rotted dirty halls of the half-destroyed compound.

_I don't know. Damn it all to hell, I_ _don't_ know!

"...This way." He led them past a surprisingly intact staircase.

_Fullmetal wouldn't have been stupid enough to perform the transmutation underground, where everything could collapse._

...He hoped, frowning as he did so.

* * *

The voices stopped with the sudden _whoosh _of a door, leaving Al rather lonely in the grand scheme of things. And more than a little bored, as well.

He wondered who the voices had been...

He blinked as a face intruded upon his vision. A familiar, beloved face, one for which once, he would have done anything for - just to glimpse it smiling.

Just for a smile...

His heart stopped. _Mother?_

She beamed at him in that open crinkly-eyed way of hers.

Alphonse's breath hitched. _"Mom!" _he tried to shout, making his way toward her through the blank mire of nothing. Light brown hair whipped back from the force of the wind. _"I missed you!"_

_I missed you too, _she mouthed at him, waving her hands in greeting.

He grinned.

And suddenly remembered. "_Where's Ed?" _He would give anything to see this…

She smiled in puzzlement. _Ed? Who's that, sweetie?_

Al frowned. "_My big brother, Mom. Don't you remember him?"_

She frowned back at him. _He's not with you anymore. _It was half a question, half a declaration of truth.

He wrinkled his forehead. "No. He's not."

* * *

"The light must have come from over here, Colonel! The ceiling in this corridor is rotted through!"

"Are you _sure_?" … Because they couldn't afford to be wrong.

She beckoned to him furiously before sprinting away. "Come _on_, Mustang!" the Lieutenant called out over her shoulder, for once dispensing with titles and formality.

After only a second's hesitation, he followed, trusting that Riza Hawkeye knew what she was doing.

* * *

Something was different. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but something about where he was definitely changed.

He tried to reach her, but his pale arms were far too short. Al settled for yelling instead. 

_Come back, Mom! Help me find Brother!_

She shook her head slowly, soulfully meeting his dark eyes. _"Your brother is not with you any longer, Alphonse Elric."_

_I _know_! Help me find him!_

"_You won't," _she whispered softly.

_I want Ed!_

"_I know, Alphonse… I know." _

...And with a sad smile, she turned away.

_Wait! _he shouted desperately. _Come back!_

"_The exchange is complete. Go home, Alphonse Elric."_

_I want my brother! _It wasn't her, after all. It wasn't her. Tears ran down his face, mercilessly stinging the rosy cheeks. _Help me find him! I want my brother!_

She disappeared.

_Brother!_

"_Wake up, Alphonse Elric. Go home."_

* * *

The two burst into a chamber so dark that they were unable to see their own hands even as they tried to regain their balance. Almost the moment they did so, however, a horribly acrid stench permeated their noses, causing them to involuntarily choke and sputter.

"Ugh!" Riza covered her face with her sleeve. "What is that?" It was thick in the air, threatening to make the bile in her stomach rise.

Roy, on the other hand, knew that stink all too well.

With a pounding heartbeat ringing in his ears he snapped his fingers on a simple torch that his subordinate had shrewdly thought to bring along. The flickering flame rose and settled comfortably on the head of the stick, and though it glimmered only an unsteady light, casting half his face into darkness, it was still radiant enough to bring light to the room where only shadows had walked before.

Nonetheless, he thought absently, still not bright enough. And it would sputter out far too quickly.

He found a chance switch on the wall near the door and flicked it on, not expecting much. Yet surprisingly enough, a dim yellow light did begin to buzz from the ceiling._ Must have been Fullmetal's work,_ he thought briefly before turning his attention back to the center of the room.

Riza had clapped her hand to her mouth the moment she could see in front of her, her breathing much louder and heavier than before. This time, however, it was not from lack of clean air.

…It was from the sight of the crimson smears on the floor.

Roy kneeled and rubbed at one with a gloved forefinger. "It's still a little wet," he said evenly, not a single quaver to be heard in his words. "It couldn't have been too long ago."

She finally found her voice. "Why…? Why all this?"

He grimly turned to face her. "Fullmetal drew the transmutation circle with blood... most likely his own. Even though that must have weakened him, it could have also made it more powerful, ensuring that the – exchange – happened…" he paused, considered, "like he wanted it to." His countenance was blank and calm as always, but the telltale fist was clenched tightly on the torch, as if he wanted to break it.

…Or break himself.

"Exchange…?" she didn't understand, but…she didn't think she wanted to.

Understandable, that.

"He must have failed," Mustang gritted out. "Of course. He couldn't have found a _more_ idiotic way to die…"

"Shut up, Mustang! Don't say that!" she snapped at him, frightened to anger. "We don't _know _yet!"

He watched her passively.

Alchemists had always known blood to be a powerful ingredient, but it stood to reason that it would be especially effective in a human transmutation. Blood has iron, proteins and cells with genetic code, all of which are necessary for a body to function. Iron in particular would have been useful in binding a soul and bringing a body to this plane, and oxygen was also needed to initiate the reaction.Blood was also symbolic - signifying the price the alchemist would willingly pay. And, in this particular case,the bond between siblings who would do anything for one another. Give everything.

All is one. One is all.

...All for nothing.

The Gate must have appreciated the irony.

"I suppose we don't," he replied finally, hopelessly, looking back to the cruel red marks on the floor.

Riza's gaze, on the other hand, strayed away from the perversion.

She gasped suddenly, making Mustang's gaze snap back to her pale face. The pistol, gripped in her hands the moment she saw the blood – reflex – fell from her limp fingers.

"Col- Colonel!" she choked, her eyes tearing. On the walls…

There were murals of blood on two of the walls - much like when that chimera girl's (_Nina, that was it_) poor body was found, entrails spread on the wall in a grotesque depiction of the utter cruelty man can lower himself to creating.

Much like a vertical version of what they had found in the Elric home, that first day…

…As if a human body had been liquefied and shattered.

She had no doubts as to what it must have been. "Poor Al," she let out shakily, her voice sounding strange and distant to her ears . "Poor Alphonse…" It could have only been the intended body…

But under the painting of red… something _was_ moving.

Breathing, beating…_thuddum-thuddum…_

Roy tensed before realizing that whatever that was, it wasn't any threat – or at least, not at the moment.

He crouched next to it. "Fullmetal?" he whispered urgently, hopefully, turning it over to face them.

It did sort of look like Fullmetal. The face was similar in shape, although a bit more rounded, and while the hair was not quite the same bright shade of gold, it was still somewhat familiarly eye-catching in its own way.

But it wasn't Edward.

The mouth moved and exhaled. "Brother…" it slurred.

And Roy's eyes widened.

* * *

A/N: (peeks out from under table)

I hope it's not too confusing, or too... flame-worthy... I want to live...

However, this is not the last chap in this, so... yeah. Sorry. More torture to come.

...Review?


	6. In Which Mustang is Terribly Subtle

**_Chapter 5: In Which Mustang Is Terribly Subtle_**

* * *

"_WHO ARE YOU CALLING SHORTER THAN A FLEA?!"_

"…_You. Obviously."_

_Pause. "…Why you _bastard_…"_

_As they settled into their customary seats – Colonel Mustang behind his desk, Fullmetal on the sofa – the latter gave his report._

"_-Went to his house, but he wasn't there. So we didn't find the Gold Alchemist, but we did find the pink umbrella he stole from Geoffrey-" _

_It was long, and detailed to the mundane extreme. If he hadn't known for a fact that Edward Elric absolutely _hated _giving reports, Mustang would have thrown him out thirty minutes ago. As it was, the amount of effort the boy was expending on this was intriguing, if nothing else. For lack of further evidence, __Mustang had to conclude that his little alchemist was attempting to make his day miserable._

"_-And then I gave that egotistical shopkeeper a piece of my mind, and eventually persuaded him to give me the bananas half-price-"_

…_Despite the fact that his monologue was, in fact, rather amusing._

"_-We really didn't feel like splurging any more anyway, so for the rest of the week I had bananas for breakfast and lunch. Well, e__xcept for the third day, because that was when Al gave my banana to a cat - several cats, actually…"_

_He rested his chin on a fist. _"…_Fascinating, Fullmetal."_

_After that, the fourteen-year-old state alchemist rolled his eyes and smirked, and apparently decided to have some mercy on Mustang because he finally got up to leave. "Yeah, I bet it is." He stretched his arms. "Well, I'm off. Later, Colonel."_

_As he leaned back in his chair, the calendar caught the Colonel's eye, and suddenly, he realized that Ed's prolonged lingering in his office might have a reason, after all._

_It wasn't to make Mustang miserable. _

_It was..._

"_Today is October third," he remarked mildly._

_Edward stopped, whirling around to face him. _

_"…So?" __The word sounded like an accusation. _

_Dark eyes observed him. "I was simply mentioning the fact."_

"_Thank you kindly, Colonel," he snapped out, "but I don't need a calendar." He turned to leave.  
_

"_I'm sure Gracia and Elicia would appreciate a visit."_

_Fullmetal looked back and blinked at the change of topic. "What?"_

"_Lieutenant Hughes has been complaining to me that his daughter's been neglected by you two."_

"_We… had things to do…"_

"_Well, Fullmetal, make sure to make room in your _busy _schedule. Whenever Hughes is unhappy, he comes to _me_, expecting _me_ to entertain him. I want you boys to divert him for a couple of days. I've had quite enough of his family pictures." He gave a slow smirk. "One could almost say that Hughes is even more of an aggravation than you are, but I'm afraid no one else can quite...measure up."_

"_DON'T CALL ME SHORT, YOU SMIRKING BASTARD!"_

"_I am your commanding officer. You can hardly expect me to obey." He looked down at his papers casually. "Although I _will _mention that in the future, if you want to keep information away from your superiors you should not parade it around on your person." He glanced pointedly at the chain hanging from Ed's pocket. "Does Al know what you've written in there?"_

_Fists (flesh and automail) clenched. _

_"No."_

"..._Is it really that important?"_

_He looked away. "It doesn't matter enough."_

"_I see." Mustang crossed his arms. "You need a reminder to fulfill your promise?"_

_Ed ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "I need a reminder in case… in case I ever feel like giving up."_

_His superior studied him watchfully, then shook his head and gave a brief chuckle. "Of all people, you shouldn't worry about that."_

_"And why the hell not?" he snapped harshly._

_"Because."_

_"Because what?" _

_Ed felt a hand grip his shoulder and looked up, startled. When had the Colonel come so close?_

"_Because you are Fullmetal. And the Fullmetal I know does not give up." _

_Mustang paused, retracted his hand, then continued. _

_"And you are also Alphonse's brother. And Al's brother _never _breaks a promise."_

_Ed straightened, glared straight into Mustang's eyes. "…Don't patronize me, asshole."_

_He nearly smiled. _There you are, Fullmetal. _"Patronize a shrimp? Why, I wouldn't _dream _of stooping __so_ low_," he drawled mockingly._

_"Don't flatter yourself. You're still a stupid bastard colonel," Edward shot over his shoulder as he left, eyes defiant. _

_But his burden seemed lighter. _

_Smirking, Roy leaned against the doorframe and watched the boy walk away. _

"_Undoubtedly. But you're still a shrimp, so it's fair."__

* * *

_

"They… he couldn't have… could he?" he whispered, the words echoing from the walls. For the first time, he appeared visibly shaken. "It's… impossible…"

The coloring was right, too. Mustang shook the figure roughly. "Wake up. Wake - wake up…"

It didn't stir.

After a hesitation he added, voicing his suspicions, "Alphonse." The woman behind him gasped. "Alphonse, _get up_."

The eyelids opened sluggishly for a brief moment, and dark gray irises could be seen moving in and out of sight. "Don' wanna g'up," it mumbled into his arm.

His heart beat even quicker than before. _Is it possible? _"Alphonse… Al. Wake up. Your brother needs you. Al." He shook him again.

A soft groan.

_It is. But... how _could _he? _

_How could he have let Ed do it?_

"Alphonse," he said, voice louder now, and far less forgiving."Alphonse Elric, you have to wake up."

The boy wrinkled his nose, eyes still tightly shut. "Shtinks in 'ere," he remarked in sleepy surprise, before pulling away from the man's grip and succumbing to unconsciousness.

Roy looked at him in surprise, then furrowed his eyebrows. The asinine comment made him come to an abrupt realization:

Alphonse hadn't known what Fullmetal was going to do.

This should have been, of course, obvious, considering the nonsensical protectiveness Al was known for utilizing with anything concerning his brother. There was no way Alphonse would have let Ed carry on with the transmutation if he had known what was required for the equation to obtain his body.

But, more importantly, Fullmetal had made _sure_ Al couldn't have found out. He had deliberately concealed the process from his brother's knowledge. His work must have been made easier by the fact that Al was deprived of his senses – the armor couldn't have felt the sluggish air, couldn't smell the stench that hung over the place, might not have even been able to see well in the dark - who really knew how much Al could or couldn't do while in that armor?

He looked over Al's small frame._ Poor kid._ If he ever learned of how Ed had exploited his weakness…

...He'd never forgive himself.

Roy turned to his companion. "We have to get him out of here."

She nodded once before again surveying the room with a shiver. "I… I don't understand, Col-Colonel. If - if Alphonse is alive…" the miracle – _and he has his body – _was still too incredible to be uttered, "…then what happened? Where's Edward? Where did… that…" she gestured blindly at the walls (_don't look don't look DON'T LOOK_) "…come from?"

There was almost a look of pity in his eyes, amidst all the pain and guilt. The smirk on his lips was bitter, full of self-loathing and terrible knowledge.

His words, when he finally spoke them, were cold. But not unkindly so.

"Do you really not get it, Lieutenant?"

Riza jerked back from him, shaking her head in denial.

"No."

She glanced at the blood, then back at him, her eyes painfully dry even as her heart was shuddering.

_Edward..._

"No. No."

_No.

* * *

_

Dreams started to blur, and Alphonse Elric began the tedious process of waking up. A distant part of his mind noted that this routine procedure seemed oddly alien, but he chocked it up to just not being a morning person and continued to swim over to consciousness. He yawned loudly and opened his eyes, rubbing away at the crust that must have built up overnight…

Only to find a pair of dark brown eyes scrutinizing him much too close for comfort.

Al blinked. "Hi."

The face drew back, and suddenly a large, relieved smile nearly split it in half. Al thought it looked as if she'd needed the smile quite badly. "You're awake," the pretty woman stated the obvious. Without removing her eyes from his, she called, "Sergeant Broche!"

A head with messy brown hair showed itself in the corner of Al's vision, a hand scratching at the back of the neck. "What is it, First Lieutenant?"

"Call the Colonel. He's awake."

The man appeared suddenly much more alert. "Yes, ma'am!"

Al watched the exchange, a little confused. "What's going on?" he asked in a small voice.

She turned back to him. "You're in the hospital," the woman answered. "You've been asleep for quite a while – almost had us worried there." Her voice was gentle, bordering on fond.

It reminded him of his mother, weirdly enough. "Wo…worried? How… how did I get here?" For that matter, what was wrong with his voice? It felt like he hadn't used it in _ages_…

The woman peered at him carefully, almost hesitant under the matter-of-fact voice. "Tell me, how much do you remember?"

"Remember?" he asked cautiously, feeling a little stupid. "What am I supposed to remember?"

Her mouth was pursed and a flicker of something passed over her features. Finally, she asked, "Do you know my name, Alphonse?"

He looked away, unsure and for some reason _really _not wanting to hurt her feelings. "…No. Should I?"

She leaned back on her chair and put a hand to her forehead. "He wrote that this might happen…" the woman muttered so quietly that Al barely heard her.

Focusing back on him, she introduced herself. "I am First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, from Central headquarters. I used to work with Edward."

"Brother?" he frowned. "What would he have to do with the military?"

He was confused, and understandably so. The military would only hinder their effort to get Mom back.

...After all, human transmutation was illegal.

Hawkeye turned to a small bedside table and withdrew from it a small glass of water. "Drink," she ordered lightly as she handed it to him. "I imagine your voice is pretty sore."

"Um… yeah…" He took it obediently. _How did she know? _"…Thanks."

"No problem," she smiled softly.

But he was still mystified, and so he repeated his question. "What does Brother have to do with the military?"

She sighed and rested her elbows on her knees.

"A great deal, actually. Edward became state alchemist four years ago in order to obtain access to certain classified information, and from then on was involved in several significant military operations."

That was _impossible_. "Four years ago…? But he was only seven then, and besides, he was with me all that time! We were still studying alchemy back home!"

Hawkeye hesitated, her fears confirmed. "Al, the truth… the truth is-"

"The truth is," a new, deeper voice interrupted, "that you, Alphonse Elric, are apparently missing five years of your memory in which you lived as a transmuted soul without a human body."

Al choked.

"_What?_"

"Colonel Mustang," Riza's voice held reproach. "That wasn't the way to go about it."

The boy gulped. "What …What do you mean?"

"Put simply, Al… although you have the body and memory of a… what was it, ten? - a ten year old, you were actually born fifteen years ago. You are the product of the only successful human transmutation ever made, devised and carried out by none other than our very own Major Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist."

It was too much information, all at once. But Al was a bright boy, and thought he could get the gist of it.

...It wasn't reassuring. "Where's… where's Brother?"

The exchange of glances seemed foreboding to say the least. Certainly, it didn't alleviate the uneasy, slightly nauseous sensation that started to lodge itself deep inside Al's stomach.

He bated his breath, focusing on the pattern of black butterflies on white blanket, not knowing (not wanting to know) what to expect.

Finally, the man spoke up. "We're not sure."

He glanced up at him, his eyes narrowed. "What? What do you mean, '_we're not sure'?_"

"We -"

"You _lost_ my _brother?_"

The two looked a bit taken aback. "Um, not exactly-"

"_Then WHERE_ IS _HE?_"

"...Well, not here," the man ventured to say.

It was perhaps not quite the brightest thing that Mustang could have uttered. Rather unsurprisingly, it made the poor boy go a bit hysterical.

"What happened? Where's Brother? Why _isn't_ he here?"

He paused suddenly, frowning.

"Wait a minute…What am _I_ doing here? What _is _here? _Who are you people?_"

The two looked at each other.

"You explain," they said simultaneously.

* * *

_A/N: _It's here... and I'm really hoping I'm not going to be assaulted (or eaten, I think it was)when I leave my house...

I'm glad last chapter didn't confuse you - but I'm wondering if this chapter does, at least the beginning or middle parts of it. I rather like the beginning, though. Roy is such a sweetheart when he's playing puppetmaster with Ed. And yet he's such an idiot with Al. O.o

I hope this chapter's Al is not OOC, but I couldn't tell, seeing as how I've read it so many times it's ingrained into my head. But the boy _had_ just woken up in his body for the first time in who knows how long...

That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Rockpaperscissor does not own FMA. Does not even own her own socks, in fact...


	7. In Which Al Makes A Promise

**_Chapter 6: In Which Al Makes A Promise, And Winry Makes A Scene_**

* * *

_"No longer mourn for me when I am dead  
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell  
Give warning to the world that I am fled  
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:_

_Nay, if you read this line, remember not  
The hand that writ it; for I love you so  
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot  
If thinking on me then should make you woe..."_

- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 71

* * *

After two weeks of rehabilitation and careful explanations, Alphonse had a more or less concrete idea of the happenings of the past four years. He learned about their disastrous attempt to get their mother back, about Ed's initiation into the army, and had a very general picture of their journeys and adventures on the way to recover the Philosopher's Stone.

He didn't lose his memory entirely; bits and pieces would surface at odd moments, and he would know that what they told him was not a deception - or at the very least, that not all of it was. Certainly, his body felt more than a little awkward and unused; common, ordinary details held a strange sort of fascination to him; and furthermore, it took him a ridiculously long while to learn to wobble unsteadily to the bathroom. Let alone hold anything solid down.

(...It was quite embarrassing, actually...)

But the single greatest event indicating that the old Al was not all gone, however, transpired because of Winry.

The girl arrived in Central without any warning about two days after Al had first woken up, apparently having a "gut feeling", as she put it, that the brothers - in particular "the stupid short alchemy geek" - were "once again" going to be in trouble. After not finding any trace of the two in their usual lodging in the city, she had determinedly marched up to Headquarters to demand some answers - which, unfortunately enough, were handed to her rather too frankly and bluntly from (who else?) the Colonel himself.

Evidently distraught and shocked at what she'd found - judging mainly by her pale face and blabbered denials - they could not find it in themselves to stop her from stumbling across to Al's room and promptly collapsing to weep over his disheveled head.

Needless to say, Al was a bit shocked himself to see his old childhood friend burst into his room like that, not to mention hug him tight and snivel into his shirt - all the while wailing how happy she was that he was back. But – here was the cincher – he was not nearly as surprised as he _should_ have been, considering his circumstances, to see Winry four years older than he supposedly recalled.

He remembered her like this.

He _remembered._ It was this significant fact which gave them hope that perhaps, with time, he might remember more.

* * *

"_Ed, don't you… ever get tired?"_

_He smirked, swinging his legs as he sat on the table. "According to you and Al, isn't that the problem?" _

_The girl ducked her head, frowning as she tinkered nervously with the left hydraulic chamber of his axillary automail. "That wasn't what I asked and you know it."_

_She heard him sigh. "Winry…"_

"_It's been four years, Ed," she kept her voice low so as to not anger him, but she refused to back off. "Four years of secrets and trouble for the both of you. And I _know _that in all that time, you've never let up."_

_He caught her hand, stopping it from meddling uselessly with his arm. "Of course not - I_ _can't__. Not until Al gets his body back."_

_She looked up. "And your arm and leg. You're trying to get those back too," she reminded him._

_His gaze landed somewhere beyond her, between the table and the floor. He suddenly sighed, pulling away. __"Winry… that's only what I tell Al, to keep him happy. It's not… it's not going to happen."_

_Her voice caught. "You've given up?"_

_The alchemist smiled at nothing. "You can't give up on something you never really went for in the first place."_

_She stared speechlessly into his face, for some reason stunned and entranced by the wistfulness – maturity? – in his voice. _

_He didn't sound like the boy she remembered._

"_Besides," he met her eyes good-naturedly, "I've gotten used to this automail. I think I'd miss being able to detach my arm."_

_Winry squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to not hit him in spite of the almost irresistible urge to do so. _

_Stupid, _stupid _Ed…_

_She felt his hand press hers, though only very lightly and briefly. He was Ed after all, and that meant little to no physical contact. _

"_Really, Winry… It's fine."_

_She wrenched her arm away, opening her eyes and blushing slightly as she did so. "Let's just get this over with," she snapped, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "Idiot."_

"_Hey, what was that for?"_

"…_Shut up." _Idiot_._

"_Fine," he grumbled sullenly. There was a grim pause as she adjusted the gears on the V6 trajectory and tried desperately not to cry. _

"_Winry…"_

_She could almost hear him thinking hard. He always hated it when she cried…_

_Ed sighed, before pulling his face into a well-practiced frown__. "Fine, be that way, stupid girl..." he said under his breath._

_Her eyes widened._

_CLANG! "Say that again, alchemy geek!"_

"_OW! What did you call me, STUPID GIRL?"_

"_Excuse me, I meant SHORT alchemy geek!"_

"_Who're you calling an undersized amoeba, stupid automail freak?"_

"_Why you… Geek!"_

"_Freak!"_

"_Geek!"_

"_Freak!"_

"_Shorty."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_SHORTY! I SAID SHORTY!"_

" _YOU… MANLY GIRL!"_

"_SHORTY SHORTY SHORTY!"_

"_GRRRR! WINRYYYYYY!"_

_--_

"_Win… it really is okay, you know."_

_It can't be okay, she thought. "Just make sure you take care of your automail better this time."_

"_Hehe," he laughed sheepishly, "I'll try… So, how long will it be?"_

_She scowled at him. "You've messed it up so badly, I'll need at least a week."_

"_A week? I can't wait that long!"_

"_You'll have to. Plus, I have to make some adjustments to the automail."_

"_You mean I've grown? Haha! Yes!" he grinned, putting his arms in the air and giving a brief ecstatic laugh._

_She hit his head with the wrench. Partly because he was so smug, mostly because… well, she could. "Not _that_ much."_

"_Bitch."_

_She hit him again. "Watch it."_

"_Hmph." He leaned back on the table, rubbing his head gingerly. "Well, I guess Al could take a little break… and we could spar like we used to." Ed closed his eyes, and she could see him imagining… what, she didn't know. "And it'll be good to be with you and Granny Pinako again, I guess… I need some good home-made food," he murmured to himself._

_How conceited, she thought, half-irritated, half-amused._ _Is he trying to pretend that's all he comes here for?_

_Winry peeked at him, staring as he rested his head on the wall and unconsciously curved a little odd smile on his lips, as if there was some grand answer, some mystery that only he was privy to, and was not about to share with anyone else. The light from the window hit the back of his head and made a halo appear around his golden hair, and the familiar face seemed to glow with a tawny softness. _

_He looked so innocent… so unhurt, but for the arm and leg made of metal…_

_She faltered as she adjusted the nerve conductors on his left knee, that peaceful sight oddly beautiful and unnerving. _

"..._Ed?"_

"_Hmm," he hummed lazily in response._

_She hesitated, not looking at him. "…You _have_ grown… a little."_

_He opened his eyes and, strangely enough, only seemed slightly amused, as if he understood what she really meant. "I had to, sooner or later."_

_--_

"What will I do?"

The small voice jolted Winry from her thoughts. "What? Oh… well, come home, of course! What else is there?" she cried indignantly, a tremor passing through her.

_Calm down, girl. You won't lose him too._

"It's just… what will I do _now_?" he repeated, and the lost quality of his voice told Winry that the answer she'd given was perhaps not exactly the kind of answer he sought. "What am I supposed to...What am I supposed to _do_, Winry?"

She stared out the small window in his room. "I don't know, Al."

"They tell me... they say he's gone, Winry. That Ed's gone."

"Yeah," she whispered, averting her eyes. "..I know."

He scowled at her. "Not like that! Brother isn't _dead_."

She looked up at him, heart caught in her throat, not sure if it's pity or grief that moved her to speak. "He's gone, Al. He brought you back."

"Exactly," he insisted. "They said that he performed a successful human transmutation on me… but that doesn't make _sense_."

"Why not?"

"They said they found me. Just me. I was the only one there, wherever that was."

Winry frowned. "So what?"

"When I... lost my body, or whatever, that's because the array backfired. We didn't get Mom back. So if the transmutation was successful, why would there have been any effect on him? That's completely against the rules of alchemy. He had to have left on his own."

She turned away. There were pretty floral patterns on the wall, Winry noticed absentmindedly. Swirls of purple and pink and yellow, with little green stems…

"I don't understand how he did it to begin with. Did he create this body, or is this the one I had to begin with? I mean, I feel the same, but I don't even know," Al continued, musingly. "And if it's the same one, what's the Equivalent Exchange? There had to have been some kind of payment."

"I wouldn't… wouldn't know." She fiddled with her leather jacket, buttoning and unbuttoning without purpose or reason. She didn't understand what Al was saying, really, but could there really be a chance Ed was alive? That he had up and left, for whatever reason?

Except she remembered Mustang's face when he told her that Ed had disappeared. It hadn't been the expression of someone who thought Ed had simply run away.

And there was no way Ed would have ever left Al alone like that.

_I wish you _had _left, Ed… anything but this.  
_

Al looked very much like his brother at that moment, glaring determinedly at his feet as he tried to figure things out. "He must have left on his own. Unless they're hiding something. There has to be something they are not telling me, Brother wouldn't have left me like that."

"No," she said dully, trying her very best to stay active in the conversation. _Why are my eyes burning?_

The boy jumped out of bed with a spring in his step. "I'll ask them to tell me where I was found. Maybe I can take a look at the array, figure things out. I know this can't be it. They'll have to help me."

It was naïve little beliefs like that that forcibly reminded Winry of how much this Alphonse still had to grow up. "I don't know if that'll work, Al," she said cautiously.

He was facing away from her, but she could see his hands squeezing themselves into fists. "It has to, Winry," he said tightly. "I won't let them get away with this. He's… he's the only one I've _got_."

'You've got me' was obviously not the right thing to say at that moment. So she hugged him to her, saying over and over "it'll be okay, Al, it'll be okay." But she didn't know if it would ever be okay. She said it only because it felt like she was doing something.

Because she felt so helpless.

_Damn you, Ed. Damn you._

"Winry…?"

"Hmm? What?"

"I love Mom."

She looked down at him, startled, only to see a mess of brown hair and pale hands clutching possessively at a red jacket. "That's okay, Al. I know that." She softened. "She does too."

"But you don't understand! I love Mom… but I want Brother here. With me. More than I do Mom." He pressed against her, shaking. "Is… is that bad?"

The heart in Winry's chest felt like it was being strangled and twisted out to dry.

"I don't see why it would be," she finally spoke into his hair.

"Brother wanted Mom back. I do too. That's why we research- researched human transmutation. But…" he sounded lost, "but I was happy with just Ed being there."

Her smile was painful. "I was happy then too."

The young Elric turned his face to her. He'd been crying. "Then why did he leave me here? Why is he gone? Where is he?"

"I don't know, Al…" she's been saying that way too many times. She felt her resolve harden. "But we can find out."

He was listening. "How?"

The girl kicked her legs against the bed, thinking hard before snapping her fingers. "You have a sensei, don't you? Izumi. We can ask her."

"That's right!" he brightened, releasing her from his grip. "Sensei will know. She can complete transmutations just using her hands. She's a genius. I'll go ask her."

He paused, hesitating.

"She… she _does _know what happened to us, doesn't she?"

Winry winced. "She wasn't too happy when she found out."

"So… she won't be mad anymore, do you think? We could turn her around. I could be her apprentice again. I'll study harder than I ever did for Mom, even."

She grinned at him. It felt odd on her face, almost painful. "Sounds like a plan."

He sat at the end of the bed, grinning at the sky out the window. "And I'll bring him back."

The girl stiffened, her world crashing yet again. "How do you aim to do that?" she tried to be calm.

He glared at her. "I'll find a way! No matter where he is, I'll bring him back!"

She ruffled his hair and decided not to argue just right then. "Just make sure you talk to us before you do anything dangerous, okay?"

Alphonse catapulted himself away from her, too excited to be held. "Yeah, yeah," he waved it off, pacing as he thought excitedly.

Eventually, the high wore off, and she could see him glancing unconsciously to the sides, as if searching the room for his missing brother's approval. His eyes widened, then lowered as he caught himself doing so, the pained look in them playing with Winry's heartstrings.

_...It's not fair, Alphonse, is it?_

"Brother..." he whispered brokenly, almost inaudibly, lip trembling as he finally slumped against the window, his form silhouetted against the light.

The light shifted, highlighting what she could see of his face, but a dark decisive shadow not of the sun's making gradually adorned his countenance, covering his customary innocence with purpose and determination.

"No," he said abruptly. "I'll bring you back, Brother. I promise."

He looked up and grinned at Winry, his expression fierce and... triumphant, almost.

"It's a promise, Winry!"

She nodded and watched silently.

It was incredible how without his brother, his confidence eroded, wasted away… but a single thought of Ed could make Al resolute and determined, as if he really _was _there – if only for a moment.

_Each fault of theirs was complemented by the strength of the other. They really did need each other._

And yet…

"**He's the only one I've got."**

Again she was reminded. The four years that Alphonse lost had been a time when the siblings' bond had become so strong that it transcended almost everything else.

_The old Al would have stared at me like I was an idiot, given a simple reason like "it's _Edward_," or "He would do the same for me", or… or _something, _so totally ridiculous and insane that it would make sense only because they are who they are. _

_But now… he doesn't feel it. __Not all of it, at any rate… _

_How… how can something so strong be so…so utterly… utterly lost?_

* * *

_"..__O, if, I say, you look upon this verse  
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,  
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.  
But let your love even with my life decay,_

_...Lest the wise world should look into your moan  
And mock you with me after I am gone."_

- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 71

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Well, here it is. Chapter 6. It turned out to be considerably long, unfortunately... but I hope you guys don't mind...(grin)

Oh well. That just means I'm expecting more reviews for it, even though this chap has Winry, who doesn't seem to be _too_ well liked in the FMA fandom. But hey, this is _my_ Winry. So she's cooler and stuff. I mean, come on. She hits Ed with a _wrench_.

...Okay, so she always does that... but she did it three times.

_Three_.

Three is special. So. I win.

(ignores readers rolling their eyeballs) Anyhoo... this was not a tearjerker, but a pretty good chapter in my mind, considering. My favorite part, personally, is the one with Ed (just how great is he?) but Al is, and I know I'm repeating myself, such a sweetheart, despite not being quite the same Al we all hold dear. But he is Al all the same, so hurrah.

My real pride is in the next chapter. I'm working especially hard on that one (although I worked pretty hard on this one too...) and I'm really satisfied with how it's turning out. Any questions you might have from this chapter will, hopefully, be answered then.

Disclaimer: . ...Isn't this obvious?

Revised and rewritten June 3, 2009.


	8. In Which Roy Is Compared To A Spoon

_**Chapter 7: In Which Roy Is Compared To A Spoon**_

**_

* * *

_Dedicated in particularly to CaptainKase, who needed something written for her for a change. As well as all my awesome, awesome, AWESOME reviewers, who actually spend more than three seconds on reviews. Thank you, everyone!**

Now that that's over with... let's get on with it.

Enjoy...

* * *

Warning: Contains angst, an annoyed Riza, and a mildly inebriated Roy. 

And angst. Oh, the angst.

* * *

"Why? 

"Why didn't you report this to me...?"

_

* * *

He gritted his teeth when he heard the familiar voice desperately shouting Fullmetal's name, instincts and logic both telling him that the brothers were – once_ _again – in grave danger. _

_He turned the corner, squinted, and saw that Al had reasonable grounds to cry out; the man - the _murderer_- was closing in on Ed, his hand nearly touching –_

_And Roy knew perfectly well what that hand was capable of. _

_Ed must know too, who he was dealing with, he reasoned in a flash of insight. There had been the gory corpse of a soldier a few alleys back, and in all likelihood, knowing Fullmetal, the boy had been there for the show. Even if he hadn't, Fullmetal was more than smart enough to figure out that this must be the man behind the gruesome murders that have recently been plaguing the city. _

…_So…_

_Why wasn't he _doing _anything?_

_The murderer withdrew his hand and said something._

_Roy narrowed his eyes at that, not knowing how to take it. On the one hand, Fullmetal wasn't instantly dead – definitely a bonus. On the other, however… what in the world was the man planning? _

_And he couldn't even hear them clearly yet, though some words did manage to crawl into his ears. _

"_After me… kill him too?"_

_The man came close again, and Roy had the sudden absurd recollection that that Fullmetal never liked anyone but his brother being that near to him. He always turned defensive and aggressive whenever someone was intruding on his personal space - it was almost worse than calling him shorty._

_This man, codenamed Scar…h__e was definitely invading Ed's personal bubble. And definitely being as openly dangerous and menacing as possible while he was at it._

"…_Only you."_

_Any sane person would have gotten their feet and _ran -_damn dignity and pride to hell. Then again, the idiot brat wasn't exactly known for his common sense, he cursed to himself._

…_But the frightening thing was that Ed wasn't doing_ anything _about it, let alone run. He was just kneeling, motionless, and Roy couldn't tell whether it was tears that ran raw tracks down his cheeks, or simply rain._

"…_Promise me… that you won't touch my little brother_..._" _

_Had he… given up?_

"_I will keep my word."_

_Stupid._

"_Fullmetal," Roy breathed irritably, running forward, fingers ready to pull the trigger –

* * *

_

_Clink._

"Colonel?"

He raised his head as he nodded to the bartender, tipping his glass. "Another one, Terry."

The man grunted in sympathy as he pulled out another bottle. "Must have been one hell of a bad day for you to be like this," he commented, sounding like he knew his customer all too well.

He leaned his head against his arm, sighing. "You don't know the half of it."

"Colonel," Riza repeated, ignoring the fact he was ignoring her, "what are you doing here?"

_What a stupid question,_ he mused. Roy raised his empty glass to the barkeep in thanks as the latter placed a full one in front of him.

"_Colonel_."

"You know," he took a sip, "Maes and I used to come here back when he was alive. Good place, this."

She settled herself on the stool next to him. "Just water," she said curtly.

"For a while after he died, I came here every day. I didn't drink anything. It wasn't painful." Mustang breathed out slowly. The dim light of the bar made him seem mysterious and dark, almost larger than life in the ordinary scene. "Not at all. I just liked it here."

_Sometimes I wonder whether he has the emotional capacity of a spoon. _"And then?" she nudged gently.

"I stopped," he said matter-of-factly. "Didn't need it anymore. Had to find out who killed him."

"You seem on pretty familiar terms with Barry, though," she observed dryly into her cup. "For someone who hasn't been here awhile."

"Terry," he corrected. "I was always good with names."

"Of course."

There was a creak of a door as it opened, letting the cold draft in. "Hey!" people greeted the newcomer as one, hoping for, perhaps, a generous stranger who might supply them free alcohol.

"What are they doing?" he asked.

"Who?"

"The kids. Fullmetal's... family, I suppose they were."

She stole a glance at him. "They went back to Rizenbool."

"Do you think I should have said something? About how…"

"No. It's better this way." Her tone left no room for argument.

"I lied to him," he said casually, flicking an invisible speck off the top of his uniform. "I told him the room in Lab 5 collapsed after we got out of there. I didn't tell him I destroyed it. I told him he'd been alone. I didn't tell him how we found him, drenched in Fullmetal's blood. How there wasn't even a corpse left."

_I let him_ _**hope**._

A jingle of coins. Someone played an old tune on the jukebox, startling a couple of the resident bums.

It was a nice song.

"At least you gave him the cloak," she offered, after a while.

"True," he conceded. "He did seem to appreciate that."

"It was the only real thing left of him." _Except for the blood. _"Of course he did."

Roy rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I wonder if he knew Al would take it like that. Usually he goes everywhere with that coat, but that day… that day, he left it in his room. He had to have known."

"He probably did."

"Smart kid."

She nodded. _That he was. _"He always was intelligent." _And noble. And brave. _

_And so much more… _

"I should have known."

Riza looked over at him, surprised at the abrupt statement. She brushed an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. "What are you talking about?" she frowned, reining in a couple of expletives she felt were inappropriate.

He didn't meet her eyes, instead holding the half-empty glass up to the light as if intrigued by the myriad of color it reflected. "He… Edward was acting strangely. I noticed that, but… I didn't…didn't _act_.

He laughed, the sound lifeless and dull. "Didn't even manage to get him to explode at me like usual. The last time I get to see Fullmetal, and we don't even have a good fight. Shame," he tossed that last word out into the open, sipping a little more of his drink.

When she didn't answer, he continued, "It rankles me, really. You've read it, haven't you?" he didn't see her nod, but went on, "It wasn't really that. It's… the last time I see him, and I can't think of anything but provoking him, returning everything to our own screwed-up version of normal, while he just tries to make peace, or… make me happy, I guess it was. Make his brother happy by not rising to the bait one last time." He frowned as he put the glass to his lips again. "It annoys me. What a selfless little brat."

"If he hadn't been acting strangely, you'd have been… _annoyed_…" she used his term only because she knew he would have firmly denied feeling anything deeper (_the stupid spoon of a man)_, "annoyed that you didn't notice, when you should have."

"Ah," the Colonel spoke as if making a humorous point, raising an intercepting finger, "but then I wouldn't have had anything to feel bad about. Logically, there would have been no signs for me to notice, and therefore I would have been exempt from any guilt whatsoever."

She didn't bother answering, although she did wonder if he noticed that he'd just admitted his remorse. He was only trying to rationalize himself, to give legitimate logic to whatever it was he was feeling, and miserably failing, at that.

_It was my fault too, _she thought gravely, wishing that for once her conscience would let her order something stronger than water. _If I hadn't been so naïve, so… principled…_

The two sat in relative silence, allowing the noisy din of the bar to wash over them like the healing touch of a restless sea, contemplating the world and all its enigmas. _And the mystery that is Roy Mustang_, Hawkeye thought wryly to herself. _I've never met a more emotionally retarded man._

"You know," Roy suddenly started up again, "That day… Ed smiled at me. _Really_ smiled, as if I were Hughes or Havoc, or even Al. It bothered me. He never did that before."

…Perhaps it wasn't quite as bad as she thought.

"It was so… so damn confounding. I couldn't tell you for the world what I was thinking at that moment. Beyond my prosaic skills, I suppose."

"Mm."

He seemed genuinely bothered. "It just didn't make any _sense_. He always had that infernal stubborn grin, you know, but he never actually _smiled_ like that before. Not with me. All I did was ask him if everything's all right." The man leaned back, closing his eyes, remembering.

--

'"_Is… everything all right?" he asked quietly. The words hung awkwardly between them, and he cursed himself for a fool. _

_As if Fullmetal would actually tell him. _

_But Ed turned around slowly, grinning. His face brightened, and he seemed almost satisfied. Almost relieved. _

_Almost… happy. _

"_Colonel, things couldn't be better." _

_Later, Roy would tell himself that he'd been too stunned to do anything. __Because under normal circumstances he would have instantly barred the boy from leaving and demanded to know where the real Edward Elric was._

_Still grinning, Fullmetal paused by the door. There was laughter in his eyes as he turned for a last look. _

"_Hey bastard…Mustang…Get yourself another shrimp."'_

_--_

_I'm an idiot. __I should have known._

_I should have understood._

He blinked, feeling a hand on his arm. She'd been talking to him. "What?"

"That's his gift to you. A parting memory, Mustang."

The bitter smile was shaky. "Better than what we found at the lab, that's for certain."

She didn't relent. "In spite of all your arguments, he thought of you as a friend. Almost family, I'm sure. We were all family." And Roy had been more than most, in spite of his infuriatingly stoic and unfeeling attitude.

To tell the truth… aside from perhaps Maes, Mustang must have been the only father Ed knew or even remotely acknowledged. No one who really knew them could deny that the two had a deep understanding, albeit a strange one.

("_Get yourself another shrimp"_)

– _take care of yourself, Colonel –_

BAM.

He slammed his fist against the counter, feeling the delicious numbness _--numbness in his heart as he shook the boy, turned him over, not knowing if what he was feeling was hope or dread --_creeping up his arm. "He thought I was _Al's_ friend. For heaven's sake, he thought he was a _pest_ to all of us, the stupid _brat_!"

"He always was stupid," she replied softly. "That doesn't make it any less true."

He sighed and leaned his forehead against his glass.

Another silence. Another song was requested, and another jingle of coins was heard.

It was much too slow for both their tastes.

"I didn't give Al his letter."

"Why not?" she tried not to sound too harsh. Really."Granted, Colonel, you were also meant to read it, but _why the hell not_?"

Perhaps it was the surprise that caused him to finally meet her eyes, but his words were composed as ever.

"Because Al doesn't deserve that. He doesn't even remember Ed… the Ed we knew, and here he has this gallant heroic brother of his to live up to, a renown noble hero person he doesn't really know that had sacrificed himself for him. This letter will only make it worse, because it's so…"

(Stupid. Humble. Loving._ Blind._)

"So _Ed_… because he will have missed out on everything." He hesitated. "And… Alphonse shouldn't know yet about what happened. Someday, when he remembers it all, yes. He has to. And then, I'll tell him how Fullmetal…" he downed the remainder of his drink in a single expert swallow before continuing. "But not yet, when he can't understand. I'll give it to him then."

His eyes seemed very childlike for a second. "…Is that a good enough reason for you, First Lieutenant?"

She smiled at him, helpless. "It's a very good reason, Colonel."

That seemed to break him. He broke the contact and held out his hand for another drink. "Damn it, Lieutenant…"

Terry walked over, peculiarly amused and solemn at once. "Last glass for today, boss," he said firmly, with a smile. "Pink lemonade on the rocks, just for you- my treat." As he walked away backwards, drawing Riza's incredulous gaze with him, he saluted - badly.

Really, it was a disgrace.

Roy didn't notice as he scowled at the offensive glass, his visage appearing unusually flustered.

"Colonel…?" she left it at that, bewildered. Her eyes were wide and soulful, pools -- _pools on the ground, slish slosh as he numbly traipsed through them, holding his corrupted breath in the desperate wish it wasn't true -- _of captured light that seemed oddly innocent.

He glowered angrily at the table, held himself rigid in his seat. "Fuck." The man slammed down the cup, splashing sticky pink juice _-- sticky like the blood seeping from the walls, tainting his fingers red as if he was a child at playtime --_ on the somewhat clean counter.

"Fuck," he repeated vehemently.

Although his expression did not change, his voice very nearly quivered.

_--Take care of yourself--_

"I… I think I'll _miss_ him, Hawkeye."

* * *

_"I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle  
These five words in my head screaming _

_**'Are we havin' fun yet?'**"_

- Nickelback, _How You Remind Me_

* * *

_Author's Note: _And there you have it. My masterpiece. It's too long, which rather annoys me, but it didn't make sense to cut it. IfI donot get to hear anything from you people, I shall stop this fic and declare the world merciless and unreasonable.

Oh, but isn't Roy _sweet? _Gotta love Roy... and Riza is lovely. But tell me if they're OC - I might have taken some liberties, but I did just watch the last episodes of FMA... and they were being quite uncharacteristically human and chummy.

And yes, there's a different take on that Roy and Ed scene from chapter 1, but I thought it fit in nicely.

Hey, I'm the author. I can take some liberties.

By the way - pink lemonade on the rocks - for those of you who don't know, rocks means ice. So, that's basically pink lemonade with ice that was given to Roy. O.o Those bartenders...

As always, if there are any questions... don't hesitate to ask.

Sadina Saphrite- this isn't the very next day, but hopefully, soon enough?


	9. In Which Life Moves On

**_Chapter 8: In Which Life Moves On_**

**_

* * *

_**

...No warning this time. Very mild chapter. Try to enjoy anyway.

* * *

_"Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,  
And make me travel forth without my cloak,  
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,  
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?"_

_- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 34

* * *

_

He curled up by the river's edge, staring blankly at a strangely glitter-less black sky, ensorcelled by the play of dark shadows on still darker clouds. The misty gusts tousled feathery-thin hair, making shivers rise across the flawless smooth skin as of yet untainted by wind or sun.

He was healthy.

According to what they had told him, he had every right to feel _new_. He could run - and actually pull a muscle and feel the strain on his legs. He could speak and shout - and actually run out of breath. He could touch the smooth plane of the river - and really feel the cold wet fluid flowing around his fingertips. He could eat that salmon he could see glinting silver in the dim moonlight and actually taste it (_taste it!_) and feel it going down his throat. He could laugh, and feel the sound tumble in his throat. Cry, and have the tears run down his cheeks like sweet dew on morning leaves.

And yet the boy did none of these things.

_Why did he leave?_

The wisps of the question curled in his empty mind.

_Why did he leave me alone?_

----

"Al," a crinkled voice called from behind the hill.

He shifted reluctantly so that he could watch her short figure come stand next to him.

"Granny Pinako," he acknowledged tonelessly.

…_Why_…

_Why was I the one left behind_…

She peered at him from behind her glasses. "Come, Alphonse. It's late. Let's go home."

He hugged his legs, cheeks resting on his knees.

"I'm fine."

"I know,"she gave him a customary wide and knowing smile. "Regardless of that, it's still much too late to be out."

The young Elric averted his eyes. "I don't care," he mumbled.

"Winry is worrying about you. She baked you an apple pie." Gracia Hughes' special recipe, it was. "It's edible this time, I promise…"

The boy trembled.

"Don't promise anything!" His sudden yell was muffled in his cotton overalls. "I don't need your promises!"

They both stared out into the distance, Al through the slit between his knees, Pinako with a pipe resting distractedly between her thin lips.

"No, you don't," she finally agreed. She wasn't smiling anymore. "You want Edward's."

The boy quickly looked up at her, but she was gazing off somewhere, reflecting, and the moonlight struck her glasses and he couldn't quite see her eyes.

"He said we're brothers," he said after a little while. "… that Mom said we have to stick by each other."

"Your mother was right," Pinako sighed out smoke in expert rings. "But Ed _did_ stick by you, Al. You simply don't remember that part yet."

"He left me!"

"He gave himself for you."

Al scrunched up his perfect unlined forehead. "What?"

Pinako looked at him. "Oh, come now, Al. You're his brother. He was willing to do whatever it takes to get back that body of yours. I'm no alchemist, but surely you know enough by now to know what that entails."

He glanced away. Hands clenched themselves tighter around his calves. "I… didn't want to believe…"

She blew a puff from her pipe. "You Elrics are all the same… Alphonse, Ed wanted you to be human, to live like you're meant to. His sacrifice has to mean something." Another puff. "Edward wanted you happy. _Happy_. Not moping around waiting for him."

He stared at the ground.

Waiting? Was he waiting, like she said?

..._Do I really think he'll come back?_

"'You have two legs, so stand up and use them to walk forward.' That's what your brother used to say whenever he met someone feeling guilty or sorry for themselves. 'Course, that didn't stop him from doing it himself on occasion, but it's the thought that matters." She laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it warmly. "You have two legs, Alphonse. Get up. Tomorrow's a new day."

"But…" he bit his lip. "But he's not _there_." His silvery brown eyes - almost metallic in their hue - looked up tremulously. "He's supposed to… be here with me…"

She was gentle as she spoke. "He's there, Al. That's why you have to go on - so you'll have something for him to watch." She chuckled suddenly. "After all, you don't want Edward to get bored, do you? You know what a short attention span that bean has."

She smiled… and finally, he gave her a shaky smile back.

"…You think so?"

She took his hand. "Come on, sprout. Get up. Winry's waiting."

He was helped to his feet by the old woman. "Thanks… Granny…"

She smiled, seeming peculiarly sad and grim and wise.

"Always, Al."

Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow… he will run and shout and touch and eat, do all these things his body felt so awkward and awestruck doing.

And then he will find a way to bring his brother back.

And then, they'll do all these things _together._

_

* * *

__She pushed her way through the usual daily grind and bustle. As mind-boggling and unnerving as it was, Izumi Lee Curtis did have to buy clothes and regular food just like everyone else. _

…_Even if she was a frightening woman, and an even more frightening alchemist..._

"_Paper, paper! News only days old, get it from the Dublith Star, best newspaper in the city!"_

_Henrik Thomas's wife Maralee noticed Izumi from across the road and waved her hands, smiling widely. _

_"Izumi! Your boys are on the front page again!"_

"_What?" she shouted, barely hearing over the crowd._

"_Those boys of yours! The Elrics? I keep hearing about them!"_

_She sighed and waved to a nearby food stall, gesturing for her to meet her there._

"_Now," she said as her companion joined her in the relatively quieter atmosphere, "what was it?"_

"_The Elric brothers. They're in the newspaper."_

_Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh really?"_

"_Apparently they busted some thieving ring back in Teracuse. Those two sure know how to make the headlines - I've been hearing of them ever since the older one became the youngest alchemist ever to enter the military."_

"_I see…"_

_Maralee stared. "Is that all you have to say?"_

"_Just about."_

"_Are you serious? They're heroes!"_

_She put some vegetables in her basket. "I am, as always, very disappointed in them."_

_The other woman was almost speechless – but not quite. "They're famous alchemists. You cannot tell me that doesn't count for something."_

"_Famous alchemists have no business working for the military, no matter what their reason!" she snapped. _

_Awkward silence rang out between the two._

_Then a smile forced itself on Izumi's features as she gave the stallowner some coins in payment. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I am only a simple housewife – what would I know, after all?"_

"_But Izumi-"_

_She was cut off. "I really do have to leave. Excuse me." And she hurried outside, leaving the woman gaping after her._

_-----_

"She lives there," a callused hand pointed to a nondescript house behind a butcher's shop. "Her husband is the only decent butcher 'round these parts."

A hand rose to scratch under the military cap.

"...A butcher?"

----

"Excuse me, is Miss Izumi available?"

The large man grunted and folded his arms menacingly. "We sell beef, sheep, veal, lamb."

"Is she here? I have a message for her."

Grunt. "We sell T-bone, sirloin, ribs, chops, sausage."

The smaller man faltered, sweating a bit. "But… she has a message…"

A dark braided head appeared behind the counter. "What is it?" it snapped out crankily.

"Are you Miss Izumi Curtis?" he hurried to ask, glad for the intervention.

"What of it?" she entered fully into the room, folding her arms as she stood next to her husband. They made a menacing pair, in spite of the difference in size.

It was difficult to ascertain who he should be more wary of. The soldier bowed hastily and held out his hand. "This is for you, from Central Headquarters."

She glanced at it, then looked back at him. "I'm a simple housewife. I have nothing to do with the military."

"At least take it," he pleaded. His job depended on this, after all. "Whatever you do with it after is none of my business."

She fingered it reluctantly before finally taking away the slight weight in his hands. "What's in it?"

He straightened. "I'm not certain, Mrs. Curtis."

"Then what good are you," she muttered under her breath. "Do you know who sent it?"

"I believe it was Colonel Mustang."

Her eyes narrowed, and snapped up to glare at his eyes. "What's going on?"

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc sighed and took off his hat.

"I don't know, really, but… it's about the Elrics."

----

"_I really don't know anything about it," he told her as they sat in the living room. "Mustang and Hawkeye are being really close-mouthed about it, and I've been away for the last couple of weeks on an armory check in East City, which was why the Colonel decided to send me away again in order to give this to you. But something's happened in Central, and… well, it'll probably be better for you to read it than hear it from me." _

_He got up._

"_I'll do my best to answer any questions you have, but you'll probably understand once you read it, being an alchemist. Still, if you need anything, you can reach me at the military post in Dublith or go straight to Mustang at Central."_

_----_

She read it silently. The letter was short and to the point.

...In other words, not very explanatory at all.

'_Alphonse has been returned … ten year old, no memories…at Rizenbool…No sign of Edward…disappeared…very likely dead… no hope for recovery…'_

"What's it say, Izumi?" Sig asked, setting a mug of coffee on the table and sitting next to her on the sofa.

Her features hardened.

"_You'll probably understand…being an alchemist."_

_Alchemist_.

"It appears my student has acted foolishly," she bit out. _Again._

"Edward? What's he do?"

Izumi suddenly leaned her head on him and closed her eyes. Her face pressed into his large and beefy arm, hiding her expression, but her words were still audible.

"He got what he wanted. Al's back."

The large man processed her words slowly. "So… he's…?"

He felt his beloved wife sigh and thought he might have heard a strange noise, like a sob, escape her throat.

But he knew it was just his imagination.

"Yes. Ed's gone."

* * *

"He did it." 

She glanced over at where he was leaning against the wall, kicking back with one foot. "You sound disappointed."

Envy turned to look at his fellow homunculus, dark eyes flashing with some unnamed light. "Aren't you? He was our closest lead to the philosopher's stone. And now he's just… dead. Gone. For _nothing_."

Lust tapped a finger against her lips. "Oh dear, he _is_ dead, isn't he?" she mused. "That really is unfortunate. He was amusing."

She shrugged her bare shoulders resignedly. "...Oh well. So much for that."

He glared at his companion. "I didn't know what he was going to do, okay?" he said defensively. "I thought I resolved it by making his brother want to get involved in what he was doing. He wouldn't have dared to even _dream_ about it then, with his precious little _Al_ watching." The homunculus stopped, then added more smoothly, "And he would have had to keep going after the stone."

She chuckled throatily. "There is such a thing as being too subtle, Envy dear. Fullmetal turned Alphonse away easily enough."

"You're the one who said subtle," he accused her. "I _did_ subtle."

"I expected something that would actually _succeed_, though."

He growled, not meeting her eyes. "He was too gullible and meek. If I'd known what Pipsqueak was planning…" his hands clenched into fists. "I would have found a better way to stop him."

Gluttony made noisy chewing sounds as he approached them, licking his fingers. "Mmm…" he sighed in satisfaction. "Not hungry now."

Lust raised her perfect eyebrows at the green-haired homunculus. "There there, Envy," she chided. "You almost sound like you're grieving."

Envy paused for a moment, then laughed harshly. "Not likely."

"Is it really?" she asked mildly, enjoying teasing him.

It was too much. He punched a hole in the wall. "We were so close! How could he have been so _stupid_! I thought he wanted his limbs back, not give _more_ of them... not _kill_ himself…"

He sighed finally, drawing back his fist. It was not bloodied, although the wall came off rather the worse for wear. "I'll never understand humans."

An odd expression was on Lust's face right then, but it was concealed by her gorgeous wavy hair as she turned to gaze right at the sun. "They are foolish creatures, Envy. Fullmetal just happened to be more of a fool than most." She looked away into the less distant horizon, her mind somewhere not even Envy could have followed. "He was… so naïve, innocent… even with everything that happened to him…"

The other homunculus sneered. "Serves him right to die," he said suddenly, angrily. "He should have known better."

Her lips twisted into a soft smirk, the one she knew men fell for. "Oh, come now, Envy. It was… noble."

After a long moment, they both laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

And perhaps, for them, it was.

They understood, but not nearly as much as they liked to pretend.

She left him then, passing by the fat homunculus-man and murmuring, "Come, Gluttony. Off we go."

The fat homunculus trotted behind her. "Food?"

She smiled. "Yes."

Behind her, Envy grinned.

* * *

_"...Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;  
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:  
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief  
To him that bears the strong offence's cross..."_

_- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 34_

_

* * *

_

_Author's note:_ Sorry for the wait, but I got horribly sunburned, flooded, and fanfiction wouldn't let me upload for some reason . Curse you, website! I'll use you anyway, but curse you...

I'll readily confess that this isn't a masterpiece. Far from it, although it was just as difficult - I didn't know what order to put these scenes in, and I'm still not satisfied, really. But I'm glad I got to write Izumi - she's one of the cooler characters in FMA, and doesn't get nearly enough credit. She's almost the female equivalent of Mustang in terms of Ed... but that thought's sort of disturbing, so I'm not gonna go more in depth with that...

Envy was more difficult to portray. I hope you guys aren't offended by my horrible attempt. He's my favorite homunculus, but he does get on my nerves a lot. I think I wrote this back when I thought he wasn't such a bad guy...

I just thought this sonnet sort of fit Ed and Al, and maybe Mustang and Riza, although I'm not sure how. I like it though. Basically, it means that saying sorry doesn't help much (that's butchering it, but oh well). It might be more fitting for next chapter - in which, my dear readers, you shall get to read the entirety of Ed's letter - but meh. Hope you enjoyed this anyway.

Again, thanks to all my reviewers! I'm glad you liked the last chappy, because I did work on it a whole lot. I do love you a great deal, and have baked an illustrious imaginary cake in your honor.

...Personally, I do like my cakes to be solid and substantial, but cake is cake, after all.


	10. In Which The Letter Is Revealed

**_Chapter 9: In Which The Blind Letter Is Revealed_**

* * *

_Warning: Reading letter may cause urges to hit Edward Elric with a wrench._

* * *

_____  
____

* * *

_

Contents of a letter at the bottom of the third drawer in Colonel Mustang's desk.

---

**March 12, 1916**

_Dear Al, _

_Before I say anything else, let me just make things clear here: t__his is not a suicide note. This is a 'just-in-case' note. At most a 'probably-gonna-need-this' note.  
_

_Anyway, you better be reading this. _

_If all went according to plan, you've woken up back in your body in Lab Five. I'm… dead, I guess. I mean, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this, right?  
_

_But never mind all that. Al, I hope everything's all right with you, that the transition went okay. I don't know how much you remember – it's possible some memories might have been lost during the transition to your body, or else used as Equivalent Exchange. I'm not sure which yet, but it doesn't really matter. Hopefully you do know who I am, although you might not remember the last five years. _

_Probably best that way, actually._

_But just in case you do remember everything, well... you're probably a little mad at me for what I did. Or maybe you feel guilty, like this is your fault somehow __– I haven't been your big brother all these years for nothing, you know__ - or maybe you think I abandoned you to be the only Elric left in the world. But memories or not, you should know that's all total bullshit. I made a mistake, okay, and I'm taking the steps to fix it, okay? Whatever you think, I'm not an idiot, Al. I know the possibilities, I know the consequences, and my actions are my own. None of this is your fault. _

_It's mine. I took away five years of your life and put you in that armor, Al, and I'm sorry for that. You know I am. I'm not asking you to forgive me -- hell no. Nothing can bring those years back, no matter what I pay._

_Still, I hope this might make up for it a little._

_Granted, you have a right to be mad, Al, I can't blame you if you are. But if you think I'm abandoning you – I didn't. I'm not. Well yes, obviously I'm dead, but you have so many friends, Al, and even if you don't remember you've made them I know they'll take care of you. You'll be fine. Seriously, no one can help being your friend, Al - you're just too... you__. Me, I'm just the one who forced them to tag along for a while._

_I'm pretty sure you're the reason they stayed._

_In case you don't know who these people are, I'll name you a few. You can look them up when you get out of the hospital, I'm sure any of them will be happy to help you with whatever it is you need._

_For one, there's Roy Mustang's unit - First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fury. You can trust them, they all know how to keep a secret. There's also Major Armstrong, but you might want to use him as a last resort. Not that he isn't nice or useful, but let's just say he can be a lot to deal with. Oh yeah, and Ross and Broche are okay too. And I think Gracia Hughes still owes you an apple pie, so be sure to stop and say hi. Be careful with Elysia though, she likes pulling on hair.  
_

_Hell, I guess even _**(**here the words '_Colonel bastard_' was clearly scribbled over**)**_ Mustang makes the list, somehow. You two always got along well, what with plotting behind my back and whatnot. He'll make sure you're okay.  
_

_But anyway, you'll be taken care of, Al, I promise. You can go back home and live off the money I made as a State Alchemist – I checked, and families of MIA soldiers still get funds (don't expect too much though), so you and Winry and Aunt Pinako can actually be pretty comfortable. What between that and the automail shop, you guys should be fine. _

_So. I guess I should tell you a little about what I'm doing, since I'm not exactly going to be there to explain. Teacher's not going to approve of this, but then again, it's not like she can stop me. If you see her, tell her _**(**the words '_I'm sorry, and that I always'_ are scratched out**) **_that she better not take it out on you. Or else. I'll haunt her or something._

_Thing is, Al, I found a way to trick the Gate. _

_It's not perfect. It's not safe. It's not even sane, probably – but I think it'll work. It uses an improvisation on a nine-point array I found in the Ishbalan ruins, back when we went there to visit Ross. Don't try to find it; I destroyed all evidence, and there's no records of it anywhere. I checked. That's what I've been doing all those weeks, really – refining my theories and covering my tracks. You might have wondered about the little pile of ash back in our room._

_I won't tell you any more specifics, since I'm _**(**the word '_scared' _had been erased, but can be barely made out**)** _pretty sure you might try to do something stupid with the information… plus, you never know who could be reading this. But you know the results, I guess, since you're reading this now. Life for a life. I wanted to tell you – honest, I did – but I knew you'd be sensible and stupid and get angry at me for even considering it...  
_

_I couldn't risk it. I'm sorry._

_For everything.  
_

_I'm also sorry for not making the last couple of days with you more memorable. I wanted to have a good last week together and do something we don't usually do, like eat ice cream in the park or actually keep one of those cats you always hound me about (no matter how many times I say no), but the latter might have made you suspicious, and as for ice cream… well, you couldn't eat it, could you? I couldn't think of anything else, so I realized the best thing to do was to get your body back as soon as possible, screw it._

_I did try to be nicer to everyone, though - like I don't know, give them a good last memory of me or something corny like that, but it's really hard to change, Al. I tried to be less annoying, less annoyed, but I'm me, you know, so that was pretty much a bust. It's probably for the best, though. I mean, __I know my coming into their lives hasn't done them much good, and __this way there wasn't any danger of me spilling the beans and ruining everything. But you'd be proud – I managed to have a perfectly level conversation with Mustang the last time I saw him. Hah, I feel like I should get some kind of medal, he was really trying hard that day. I think he suspected something. _

_Didn't you, Colonel?_

_Yeah, I know you're reading this, asshole. Hawkeye never could keep a secret from you, after all, who knows why. But actually, I was counting on that. I need you to go to the lab and find Al, okay? If I succeeded – I hope I did – there's a chance he might not be in the best condition. Check up on him, all right? I don't know how bad it is… but he's fine. He'll be fine.  
_

_While I'm at it, though, can I ask you two say goodbye to the others for me?__ And ah, tell them I'm sorry for ditching like this.__ It was a fun run, but I have to do this. It's all I ever wanted, you know? I think I always knew it'd happen this way. Equivalent Exchange, right? It's only fair.  
_

_So thanks for everything, Colonel, Lieutenant Hawkeye. And sorry for all the trouble. I know I've been kind of a pest.  
_

_One last thing before I'm off to the lab, Al - say hi to Winry and Pinako for me, won't you? I don't want them to think I forgot about them or something stupid like that. _

_Thank both of them for putting up with us._

_Shit. I... there's so much I want to say, but I really have to get going and start setting up. And there probably isn't any point, right? I mean... you know what I mean.  
_

_Live for me, Al. And good luck.  
_

_- Edward_

_

* * *

_

It was lying down, the thing realized. With no idea how it got there.

...That should be remedied.

The _thing_ had a peculiar way of trying to stand up. It closed its eyes, and its forehead unconsciously furrowed a little against the ground.

...Nothing happened.

Its eyes opened. This was strange.

Well, it considered, perhaps some additional effort was required. It remembered watching the others get up by themselves, using solely hands and feet and upper body strength.

Fine. It positioned its hands so they were palm down on the ground, and started to push. Its wrists trembled, but even so not much was happening.

Ah.

The hands were too far down.

This was awkward. It placed its hands nearer to its head, and tried again. This time, the entire torso lifted up a couple of inches before thudding back onto the floor.

Improvement.

Its sense of time had been culled throughout its existence, so it didn't know how much time passed before it managed to stand on its shaky feet, though it suspected that it took more than it should have. But eventually, the feat was achieved.

First order of business. _Where am I?_

Its eyes wandered over to its surroundings. Sand. Some grass. A couple of wind-battered trees. A radiant yellow disk not too far from the horizon.

…That wasn't very helpful. It could be anywhere.

All right, so forget that.

Second order of business. _What is wrong with me?_

Many things, Isabel would have teased. But that wasn't helpful either.

It leaned its body against the toughened trunk of a macabre-looking tree in exhaustion, looking down on its hands and –

Wait a second. _Hands._

... Its... _body_...?

It touched its hands to the front of its head, near where its field of vision seemed to begin. The sensation was smooth, except for the stubborn grains of sand that stuck to its cheeks.

…_My face?_

The rough bark of the tree was poking through its back, too… and was that a coat it was wrapped in?

It spread its arms wide, looking down at itself in curiosity as the garment billowed against him in the evening breeze.

_It's too big_, was its first annoyed observation. _It's brown, _was its second.

But it would ward off the chill when the night came. Nights in these parts were as cold as the days were warm, and it was just as easy to catch a cold as it was to get sunstroke. _How do I know that?_

...The chill…?

A shiver ran through it, and the thing fell to its knees painfully.

_So this is what it feels like._

It lay down and turned over on its back, wincing at the painful movements. It breathed – _breathed?_ – slowly from its mouth.

_I never thought it would… hurt…

* * *

_

_Author's Note_: Dun dun dun... and here is a turning point, in which there may be less angst, but more plot, if everything goes right. Even if not, it should still be a fun ride. And mystery awaits!

I hope y'all liked the letter. I have worked long and hard on it - perhaps too much, because I was getting a bit tired of it, and fanfiction was being uncooperative. I hope you guys will forgive me enough to wait until the next update... but thanks for all the encouragement! I haven't felt so good since I managed not to fall while waterskiing...

More reviews mean more updates!


	11. In Which There Are No Miniskirts

**_Chapter 10: In Which There Are No Miniskirts_**

* * *

"_And I've brought a message from Roy."_

"_From the Colonel?"_

"_'Post-processing is a bit of a pain, so I will not permit you to die in my jurisdiction.' That's all.'"_

"_Tell him I said 'Roger that, I will not die before you, Colonel shit.'"_

"_Ahaha! Wicked brats are aplenty in the world! You and that bastard Roy ought to have long lives!"_

- Maes Hughes and Edward Elric

* * *

As he walked down the streets of Xenotime, Major-General Roy Mustang had to concede that it was a lovely day. In spite of all the work piling up on him – he did finally get promoted, after all, (_finally_, as if being a Brigadier General for only three years hadn't been quick enough after a goddamn _six_ as Colonel) and had to leave Central to check up on security detail for the Furher – as well as all the havoc of the last month (incidentally involving a certain officer named Havoc, of all things), it was a beautiful day. 

_Full of possibilities_, he decided, a roguish smirk on his lips.

Perhaps today he'll ask her…

A bearded man roughly pushed past him as he passed by, jerking Roy from his thoughts. The general frowned as he looked back on the man currently stomping in the other direction, contemplating idly if he should perhaps light a little fire on his receding behind… after all, bad mood or no, it was unwise to be rude to high military officials.

Especially those that happened to be alchemists.

_Nah_. He shrugged and started walking again. He wasn't that impulsive anymore…

"_Haha, _sure_ you aren't, bastard Colonel!" _

A cloud seemed to pass over his face, but that was the only outward sign that the thought bothered him. He put his hands in his pockets and started whistling, well-accustomed to driving away bothersome memories.

…_It's a beautiful day, after all_.

"General!" he heard from behind him.

He gave an inward sigh and turned to face First Lieutenant Ross. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

The comely woman promptly saluted him, ever adhering to military discipline. Roy wondered briefly why it was that women seemed to make the most uptight and conservative soldiers, then decided the thought required further investigation at a later date. "You are requested, sir."

"'Requested', Lieutenant Ross?"

Requested meant not required. Requested meant he could ignore her and walk away…

...Not that he would, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

"There has been… an incident," she said softly, then hesitated, eyes flicking from passerby to passerby as if evaluating the trustworthiness of the scene - which in all likelihood, actually, she was – and said loudly, "It's a _minor_ matter, Lieutenant-General, but the Major asked that you should come if at all possible."

Ah, the Major… asked….

Obviously something was wrong. In military terms (or rather, female officer terms), 'asked' was code for 'ordered you to hightail it here ASAP unless you want your fool ass _shot_.'

_What **now**? _he wanted to ask, but instead just smirked and played along. "Very well, but for future reference, I am growing bored of how you handle these _requests_, Lieutenant. Next time I expect a miniskirt at the very least."

She flushed (for some reason, that made him feel a little better), but her expression didn't change.

"When the Major sets the example herself, sir, I will not hesitate to oblige."

…In other words, when pigs fly.

He sighed.

Fair enough, Roy supposed. "Lead me there."

* * *

Repulsive. 

Utterly repulsive.

"So. Hit me."

"20-year old male alchemist, 6'1, approximately 135 lbs. Was reported missing two days from his bookshop before a local kid found the body and called the police."

"His name?"

"Russel Tringham."

Tringham... ah. "He had a brother."

"Fletcher Tringham. Child services took custody of him." Deep breath. "It seems as if the body had been... prepared elsewhere, sir. There is no evidence of a struggle."

"And was it activated?"

"That's why you're here, sir. They needed an alchemist as an expert witness." Major Riza Hawkeye watched him with those dark brown eyes of hers, a worried expression marring her smooth countenance. "So what is it, General? I didn't know what to make of it."

He didn't look back at her, his gaze unerringly fixed on the gruesome sight in front of him.

"So much for 'minor incident'..." he said to himself.

This murder scene was unlike anything he'd ever encountered before, save for, perhaps, the results of Scar's destructive hand back when he'd still been a Colonel. But given as that particular maniac had had a remarkable distaste for alchemy - not to mention gotten _shot_ three years ago (surprisingly enough, not with a bullet intended for the murderer, but rather for the young boy behind him) – Mustang rather doubted that he had anything to do with this incident.

…Besides, whatever could be said of Scar, at least he didn't make a transmutation circle using his victims' _body _– intestines and major arteries – even if they _were_ the state alchemists he detested.

"General? There hasn't been a case like this since…" she hesitated. The streaks of careful red on the floor seemed to glow with an ominous light at her words.

Or was that her imagination?

"I know." He was silent, and she knew what he was thinking.

She changed the subject. "Do you know what could have been its purpose?"

"I can only guess." His face, as always, showed only what he wanted it to show.

Which, as usual, was nothing at all.

…But then, Riza wasn't much one for expressions, either. "Any conjecture you could make would be more than useful, sir."

He nodded curtly. She gave him time to respond, perhaps even tell her what he was thinking, but he didn't seem willing to take her up on the offer.

...Very well. Alchemy wasn't in her realm of expertise in any case.

She had more important things to think about. "I'll double the guards around HQ and assign you an escort."

Only training and an iron will stopped her from stepping back when Roy turned to her in a sudden violent burst of movement.

"No. Absolutely _not_."

Ah. A reaction.

"Sir," she pressed, "just in case… You could very well be the next target."

"If there _is _a next target, which is unlikely. At any rate, I am far from defenseless on my own, Major. There's hardly a need to bother."

"And if it rains?" she reminded him.

_Useless. _"Then I'll take an umbrella," he returned.

She narrowed her eyes. "You don't have one."

"Not so," he countered mildly . "I happen to have an extensive collection at home. I can show you if you like."

The woman sighed. "General…"

"No worries, Hawkeye. I can take care of myself -"

"No, you can't, sir," she interjected flatly. "…No offense intended."

He was starting to get irritated. "Major, I am perfectly capable-"

"Not if there's a chance it's true, General!" she shot back sharply, mindful of listeners. "I will _not_ let you throw your life away simply to satisfy your overblown male ego, _sir_!"

She was always so paranoid when it came to his safety... Roy was almost touched.

Almost. But not quite.

"The answer's still no," he said stubbornly.

"You're being an idiot, Mustang!" Riza finally bit out, eyes intense as they focused on her General. "Ridiculous! Just as _ridiculous_ and _absurd_ as -" she faltered as she realized what she had been about to say.

The General's face remained emotionless as he watched soldiers cover and dispose of what remained of the body. "Perhaps. But I will not let them think me weak." He walked in the direction of the car.

"Not weak," she hurried after him, glad that he was steering the conversation away from… that, "but _prudent_. _Intelligent_," she emphasized, making sure she articulated the two words clearly.

He tried to put a lighter spin on the conversation, even as he walked a little faster. "Come on, Hawkeye, you know I'm neither one of these things."

"Don't be a fool, Mustang!" she hissed at him, stopping abruptly. In surprise, he turned to see desperation suddenly showing itself on the fair face, and her pretty head bowed as she used the final weapon in her arsenal. "Do you think Brigadier General _Hughes_ would have been happy to let you play around with your own life?"

His face tightened. His mouth moved to retort back...

_Hughes would have known I can take_ _care_ _of myself, damn it!_

But surprisingly, instead of shutting up or (God forbid) apologizing, she went on right ahead, more quietly but with no less force, her focus not straying from the ground. "Even – even Fullmetal let us guard him, sir, when… when Scar was after him…"

Roy was silent as he noticed her guilt at saying the name, the shadow that came over her eyes and enshrouded them in dull darkness.

_Fullmetal_, he tightened his fists, remembering the lively child he had known and teased mercilessly. _Foolish, stupid boy…_

_After all this time… you are still so sorely missed._

"…General?"

Oh, but it was absurd. Every time his name was spoken, every time his antics were remembered, every time his face intruded upon their thoughts… every time, every _damned _time – the ones from the old gang would look away, mirth forgotten… and for a silent, hurtful moment, they would grieve for their missing, stolen brat, the one who'd etched himself unto their lives as easily as he could grin or lose his temper.

_Idiots. _He meant to chuckle darkly to himself, but it just came out as a pained grunt.

"General Mustang?"

They had cared about him, sentimental fools that they were.

…And the stupid thing?

"Roy…?"

The stupid thing was that that _nitwit_ … that grinning, charming, temperamental idiot twerp whose real laugh, rare as it had been,was just as pure and infectious as his brother's – he'll never know.

…He'll never _know_.

"Roy, I… I'm _sorry_, but…"

_His laugh…_

Fullmetal had been a grim, guilty, driven and high-minded man – yes, a man even at sixteen, even at twelve - yet sometimes Roy had thought him the most caring, careless, carefree boy he'd ever met.

…_What a stupid, happy laugh you had, Edward._

Roy smiled suddenly.

_Happy..._

"Let's go out for lunch."

"You can't just do this and expect me to – _what_?" her heart was at standstill. Or was it simply beating very fast? She couldn't tell. Riza only knew Mustang was far too close, at any rate, and she couldn't remember when he'd stepped forward so that she was looking at his shoes instead of the ground. And his eyes were far too dark, far too innocent...

And _far_ too smug and annoying for her taste.

The aforementioned annoyance raised his eyebrows and grinned down at her, all the while remembering a certain boy who'd managed to grin even after all that happened to him (too much, perhaps, and perchance also falsely, yet it couldn't be denied that the feat was remarkable), and stepped nearer to the woman, who glared at him fiercely as she in turn took a tiny step backwards. His face felt odd – Roy was generally not the grinning sort – but at the same time, it felt extremely good.

_Thanks, Ed. _"You will be sufficient escort if you accompany me to a restaurant, Major Hawkeye. I happen to know firsthand that you are a remarkable markswoman."

Hard as it was to believe, the ex-Lieutenant actually seemed a bit flustered. She rubbed her arms and tugged on her sleeves in a rare display of uneasiness.

"Sir... this was _not_ what I meant…"

"It was what _I_ meant, though," he replied mischievously.

"I…"

He did so enjoy seeing her blush.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Err... yes. Sorry for the slight romance - I'm aware it's not written well, and it's not going to go too far anyway, as far as I know. It just seemed appropriate somehow. Please excuse me. Ugh, and there was angst... sorry for that too. It will get lighter eventually, I hope. Maybe. Or not. 

Well, at least something's happening... right? I mean, you guys aren't too angry that I killed Russel, are you? Right?

FYI: The events in this chapter and all later chapters are happening about four years after chapter 9. Roy's been a colonel for one more year before he became brigadier general, and now, three years later, he's been promoted to Major General (details about FMA military ranks can be found on scimitarsmile .com). We'll just call him 'General', though, to make it easier on the writer. : )

I don't know if I mentioned this before (is too lazy to go back and check) but this fic is going to be a strange mix of the anime and manga. As this is fanfiction, I'll take what liberties I can. That said, thank you very much for all your reviews. Awesome! Hope you guys keep reading!

... And reviewing, of course, but hopefully that part's obvious.


	12. In Which Roy Isn't Sentimental

_**Chapter 11: In Which Roy Isn't Sentimental, And Kicks Someone Several Times**

* * *

_

_Author's Note: _Hey, I'm baaaack. Sorry it took so long, but I was out of the country for a month, and I couldn't even respond to your reviews...

Before we begin, I have a certain matter I feel is rather necessary to address. First of all, I would like to turn your attention to the upper left corner of the screen, right next to 'Fiction Rated: T' and 'English' (I'm hoping it's says English. If not, then... well, I wonder how you're reading this...). It should say 'General/Angst'.

Next, I would like you to look one line above it, where it says 'author: rockpaperscissor'.

Now, I don't mind it at all when people tell me, 'OMG! You killed off so-and-so! (cries)', or 'Bring back X! It's not the same without him!' - just the opposite, I love it, because that way I _know_ you guys actually care about this story and what happens in it. However, I've had a couple of reviewers telling me that this is too much angst - one reviewer even said that the last chapter was ' pretty pointless'. I realize this wasn't said in spite. Still, I would first like to say that this is an angsty fic - so yes, there _is _going to be angst. I even did the courtesy of putting up angst as one of the genres. It's not all going to be angst - as much as I love it, I don't mean to overdo it, and some humor always seems to pop up somehow in spite of myself - but _there SHALL be angst_.

Secondly, I do not put up 'pointless' chapters. If there is filler crap that needs to be glossed over or a chapter which isn't particularly well written, I warn you beforehand, or apologize later. And I hope most of you will agree that the last chapter was not pointless.

Also...

I don't hate Russel! In fact, I think that the last scene with him in FMA was positively adorable. Before then, he used to annoy me, but I didn't realize how good a friend he was. To tell the truth, I only decided to 'kill' him about two minutes before I uploaded the chapter... it was a spur of the moment thing, and fit in with what I wanted. I'm sorry that he died (and I know the way he died was a bit grisly T.T), but it was either a fic with him dead, or without him at all...

Maybe that's a poor excuse for consolation, but oh well. This is Array of _Sacrifice,_ after all.

Speaking of which - 42 people have Array of Sacrifice on alert, and 25 on favorites!

(does math in head)

Hmmm... that means at least 25 people owe me reviews... (hint hint)

* * *

By the way, Sachi-chan... you hit the nail right on the head.

* * *

_"This thought is as a death, which cannot choose  
But weep to have that which it fears to lose."_

- Shakespeare, _Sonnet 64_

* * *

Roy whistled a merry tune, clasping his hands behind his back as he serenely ambled down the narrow street. Major Hawkeye had been surprisingly nervous and keen on parting from him after she had hesitantly agreed to his little proposal, and he had only had to endure the 'bodyguards' (Farman and Fury, which made the term a joke) for a week before she'd finally conceded that no further attack seemed to be imminent, and the gesture useless. Mission accomplished. 

Of course, she was quick to revert back to her old self, which was rather disappointing.

But still. A victory.

_Should have thought of that before_, he mused to himself. It was useful knowledge. "But who could've known a simple date could shut that woman up?"

The expression on his face became comically alarmed when he realized he'd said that aloud, and he instantly scanned the area for anyone who might report him to a certain trigger-happy blond – not to mention the blond herself, who had the uncanny tendency to appear next to him anytime it was inconvenient.

…

Nope. Lady Luck was good today...

_Still_, he thought amiably as he continued on his way, returning to indulge in his pleasant thoughts, _I'm rather looking forward to continuing this_. It had been an enjoyable little lunch, devoid of threats (well, serious ones at least), curses or acts of violence from either party, and would hopefully be the prelude to many more such occasions.

He began envisioning the next escapade with the Major: a romantic dinner, a walk in the moonlight, with perhaps a little expression of affection – like they say, 'a kiss would not be remiss'.

Not by any means.

Although even Roy Mustang, womanizer extraordinaire, had to admit that his fantasies were more than a tad far-fetched and improbable, (the woman in question being rather annoyingly practical and sensible) the simple act of imagining their time together was a much more agreeable pastime than he'd previously thought it to be - and he had had high expectations to begin with.

Ah, Hawkeye…

With his thoughts thus pleasantly occupied, Roy didn't notice as his errant feet led him in the direction opposite to that of his luxurious two-level quarters, or at least not until he was well away from the military command center of Xenotime and in the more suburban, ghetto region of the city.

_Great_. Rolling his eyes at his own antics, he made a large u-turn as he headed back – for some reason, Roy had always hated turning on his heels and going the other way so abruptly. He supposed it was because it somehow made him feel as if he'd just wasted a whole lot of time, while going back the long way let him pretend that the detour had been of his own design.

Perhaps it was more than a bit childish, but he didn't like the prospect of wasted time. Roy was like that – at first glance, you'd think the man was a relaxed, laid back kind of guy, and yet his officers knew very well how he detested waste and inefficiency. That was probably why he'd so often assigned others tasks he could have probably done by himself. It wasn't really _laziness_, per se, but rather a stubborn reluctance to waste his precious time on insignificances.

…That it happened to also inconvenience and irritate his subordinates was only a minor boon.

As well as the satisfying fact that with the exception of Riza there had only been one person who would do anything about it, which only meant that occasionally Mustang would have had to endure some very vocal protests and screaming tantrums which ranged from the irrational to sometimes very on-the-mark complaints. The others only sighed, muttered under their breaths, and accepted it as a fact of life - which meant Mustang could get away with practically anything.

Then again, they _had_ been considerably older and lower in rank than the twerp.

He tugged his jacket closer about him. Really, Roy didn't know what had come over him lately. What between the Tringham case and Riza and those nonsensical dreams (complete with rabbits and card games or what not), it seemed as if the whole world was trying to rub Edward Elric's death in his face, _again_.

And he was getting tired of it, as well as rather peeved.

It wasn't as if Roy was a sentimental or whimsical person by any account – his reputation and public image (as well as private) had been carefully cultivated to indicate otherwise, and whatever flights of fancy passed over him he made sure to greet, smile at, and send merrily on their way. Mustang had a goal, and he'd be damned if after everything he'd been through he would let anything get to him. He wasn't a naive green cadet anymore.

But for some reason, Russel Tringham's death seemed to trigger in him an uneasiness, a sort of familiar agitation which he'd usually only associated with Fullmetal and the trouble the latter courted.

It was a bit perturbing. Hell, it was almost like he expected the Fullmetal brat to pop out of a corner and say boo.

The wind blew sternly on his back, causing him to shiver once before he could help it, and then rain started dripping from the sky like ribbons of icy, sludgy blood from an open gut wound. He took off his useless gloves and rubbed his hands vigorously, cursing his weakness all the while. Once, he wouldn't have noticed such trivialities.

There weren't very many people out now, he noted, the bulk of them wisely choosing to stay out of the ugly weather. Eventually, Roy didn't see anyone walking at all. The few hidden stars and the streetlights softly illuminated the pavement with a cold light, concealing flaws and softening harsh edges. The city seemed surreal, almost fantastical. Later, he would be surprised that he'd even been able to notice that someone had been there at all, let alone that they had lain crumpled in the shadows and might have possibly needed help.

But he did, and as he came closer details only became more pronounced.

The body lay limp on top of the cracked and worn blocks of concrete, clad in a strange, sort of heavy rumpled coat with a hood that hid the head from Roy's eyes. There was a bench only a few meters away from its outstretched hand, and the General guessed that whoever it was had attempted to reach it before they'd passed out.

The obvious conclusion was that someone had had more than a couple of drinks, but there was something strange about the scene that unsettled Roy more than he liked to admit.

So like the good, upstanding soldier that he was, he kicked the poor bugger. Hard.

"Hey, er…you. Get up."

…

…

Nothing.

He kicked a second time. Harder. "You'll get sick, idiot."

The other didn't move. _He must really be out of it._

Third time's the charm, but he supposed there should be a limit to how unethical and sadistic one could be in the rain. It wasn't the other's fault that he couldn't use his gloves, after all.

Mustang sighed and crouched down to sit back on his heels. He gingerly poked the coat with a bare finger, inwardly reviling the touch.

Not that Roy had anything against drinking – dear _God_, no. But he'd always viewed those unable to hold their alcohol in public with contempt.

It was one thing getting drunk - it was quite another to let strangers see you do so.

But still, contempt was no reason to let someone snuff it in the rain, of all things.

He poked some more.

"Come on, don't tell me you're _sleeping_-"

Rrrrip.

The general stiffened as his hand went through the cloth as if it was made of flimsy spiderwebs. He quickly took it back, and found it to be dripping something strange and dark – much too dark to be from the rain, and it didn't seem like alcohol.

Yet it wasn't until he rubbed his fingers together that Roy finally recognized the familiar thick texture.

Blood.

* * *

_"General, you knew it was only a onetime incident," she said suddenly._

_"I hope you're not referring to our date."_

_She didn't bat an eyelash. "It was a professional outing, sir. And I was speaking of the Tringham case."_

_"…Were you now?" 'Professional outing'?_

_"How did you know that the killer would stop? That they wouldn't murder more people for alchemy?"_

_"Because I am incredibly intelligent and brilliant." __He paused. __"And dashing. __Yes. Dashing."_

_She frowned at him, and he sighed and gave in - just this once - letting his playful features change into something more serious and sober._

_"Because, Hawkeye, whatever they tried to accomplish with that array…succeeded."_

_

* * *

_

A/N: And there it is. By the way, I've corrected, fixed and revised all the earlier chapters, except for the prologue. So you guys might want to go back and read them over - they should be better than before.

Oh, I almost forgot... AOS actually has a Major Plot - capital letters and all. Now, if only I knew how to get there, I'd be one happy, happy writer...

And, er... I'm sorry about the rant up there. I was just a little hurt with the comments some people made. I realize most of you didn't deserve it, and apologize for it.

Thanks to everyone who did review. I cherish your thoughts and comments, and am looking forward to seeing more of you.


	13. In Which Mustang Plays Doctor

**_Chapter 12: In Which Mustang Plays Doctor_**

* * *

_Warning:_ _Chapter may scar readers for a couple of days - contains blood, gore, too many italics, slightly sadistic!Roy and panicked!Roy. _

_Oh, and also Hughes._

**_

* * *

_**

_From last chapter:_

_Yet it wasn't until he rubbed his fingers together that Roy finally recognized the familiar thick texture._

_Blood._

_

* * *

_Drying blood, to be precise. Somehow the cloak must have concealed or disguised it, or else the failing light had influenced his sight more than he'd figured. He touched the garment again, realizing that it was much more soaked than it should have been, considering how thick it was, and that far too much blood had congealed on the _outer _surface of the coat. 

It was clear what was happening. _It's seeping through… either it has had a while to soak, or he is bleeding out all the blood in his body at a much too rapid rate…_

And though the material seemed to be sturdy and strong, the coat had patches where it was thin and fragile, such as where he'd accidentally ripped through. Obviously it had been worn rugged for a long time or for long distance. Perhaps both.

Mustang clenched his fingers and pulled it off the midsection, meaning to examine where the red was coming from. All field units knew basic medical procedures, and while he'd long been promoted out of _that_ hellhole, the Flame never forgot where he came from -

_

* * *

__Snap. Thud._

_Snap. _

_Several thuds._

"_Crap! Okay, you hold them here!" someone he knew but did not yet care to recognize yelled. "I'll circle round and take care of the others! Don't let them get past you!" Noise interfered and blocked out some words, but then he wasn't listening too closely anyway. "- Meet you back here!"_

_His mind was silent, and so was his voice. It was always like that, in those moments. He nodded to show he understood, then returned to the pointless game._

_Snap. Thud. _

_Strangled yell. He'd been sloppy. Another snap and it hushed._

_Snap. Thud. _

_Too close this time. Flesh burned and drops of fat clung stubbornly to his clothes. _

_It was still so fascinating, though. Just one snap. _

_One. That was all it took. _

_Although it did get rather repetitious. Snap, thud. Snap, thud._

"_Done yet?"_

_He blinked and looked around. _

_Mostly._

_The green gaze seemed to understand. "Well, at least it's over."_

_He nodded, not really listening._

_A loud clank resounded from the walls of nearby buildings, and he tracked the sound with his head, turning it to see an enemy fighter who had accidentally stumbled over a soldier's gun. __The man's face was a rather amusing mixture of consternation, embarrassment, anger and unadulterated fear. _

_But he was ready for a fight. _

_That, the Flame Alchemist could respect. He brought his hand in front of him purposefully, watching the fear well in those dark red eyes. _

_Fear of him. __Fear of what he knew will happen. _

(burn crackle crisp)

"_I will turn my back for five minutes," Maes said suddenly. "I won't say anything if nothing is there when I look again."_

"_Maes, what…?" he began, voice croaking, but that determined green stare stopped him where he stood._

"_Did you hear me?" his friend said to the frightened man kindly, urgently. "Five minutes. We won't shoot." And he turned his back._

_The desperate Ishbalan narrowed his eyes at this unexpected fortune, not lowering his weapon – a long metal pipe. "Only if your friend here does too."_

"_Roy?" Hughes turned to him._

_He remained expressionless as he slowly turned his back on both of them and started walking away, back to the base. To hell with all of them. "I won't report what I don't see," he told the air shortly._

_And as he walked away, Roy could feel the smile on Maes's face. He heard the footsteps that must have been the Ishbalan, running away, the sudden gasp as he realized he was free, the thud of a body on the floor, the familiar voice moaning of pain –_

…_Wait. _No.

_That wasn't _right.

_When Roy turned this time, it was with a ready right hand. _

_---_

_And when the charred carcass had fallen to the floor and joined the rest of the bodies, it didn't make a single sound. _

_But for once, Mustang didn't care._

_---_

"_Maes!" he dropped everything and kneeled by his friend's side, voice furious and hoarse in his frustration. He was afraid to touch him. The wound was deep, and it was bleeding badly… and he couldn't think a single thing except how before everything was blessedly numb and now he was simply, overwhelmingly, _afraid._ "Idealistic bastard, what were you thinking! You turn your back, you get _stabbed_, you fool!" _

_Something clicked in his brain and he could start moving again. He hurriedly shrugged off his jacket and tore off strips of it with his teeth, wrapping the wound tightly and trying to stave off the blood. _

_Damn… not enough. __"I knew I should have killed him on the spot," he muttered bitterly._

_His friend frowned at him in between gasps, seeming oddly dismayed by the statement._

"_Don't… don't say that…" he protested weakly. "You didn't want to…" _I _know_ you, _his eyes seemed to say._

"_The hell with what I wanted, Maes! If you die on me now, I'll _kill you_!" Mustang didn't care that it didn't make sense – the hell with logic, too. He growled menacingly. "And I'll _personally _shred _every_ single picture you ever took!"_

_These orbs twinkled. "Oh no…" he coughed out, " heavens _save_ us…" _

_Good lord, the man was hurt_ _and he was making _jokes_. He paused to strip of his shirt and add that, too, to the layers of cloth that had been dyed with Hughes's red lifeblood. "Why did you do it, you asshole? Did you _have _to make it _easy_ for him? Did you _want _to _die_? You can't save everyone, Hughes!" _

…_Something in him died as he said that. But he ignored it and pressed his hands tighter on the wound._

_As if he'd read his mind, the injured man glared. _

Hypocrite.

_He opened his mouth to deny the accusation. But before he could Hughes grasped Roy's undershirt and fisted it in his hand, and appeared more determined than ever, struggling to make his words heard, make himself _understood

"_Because I realized… if I gave up… on my humanity… I wouldn't be… the only one to regret it. Because I realized that … if I gave up…" _

_He stopped to cough out some blood._

"_If I gave up, Roy__… you would give up too."_

* * *

- although he wasn't close to being a doctor, of course. But he could still be of some help, at least, until he could get him something better. 

He frowned and prodded the wound gently. _It's too dark - I can't tell anything. It's almost as if he's bleeding everywhere_.

The man was desperately injured though, that was clear…_I'll just have to get him to a hospital and let them worry about it_, he concluded, wrapping him in the cloak and picking him up under the knees and shoulders - finding it surprisingly and almost worryingly easy to do so.

Oh, well. No doubt the nurses will be stuffing him full of murky soup and chunky porridge the moment he came to.

…_Provided he's alive, of course._

But, just as Roy was starting to doubt the worth of this exercise, a shudder took a hold of his burden and he had to shift it in his arms so he wouldn't accidentally let go. The hood came down and long hair spilled into Roy's arms.

The general looked down, startled. He had assumed… because of the circumstances and the body build of the injured, he'd assumed… well.

Roy was being stupid. Man or woman, they needed attention nonetheless.

"You awake?" he asked as he ran, his boots making an awkward sound on the wet pavement. Luckily, they weren't very far from the nearest hospital.

His charge sputtered a miserable cough.

Ever the eternal optimist, Roy took that for a yes. "Good. Now, I don't know what's wrong with you, much less how or why, but I'm taking you to the infirmary where they'll hopefully make some sense of it. All right? So just hold on and don't move. Wouldn't want to drop you."

There was no reply.

"Nearly there, okay? Hold on," he breathed.

The words weren't meant for the bundle in his arms, to be honest.

As far as Roy could tell, it weren't even listening.

* * *

"Do you want to go in?" a nurse in white looked from her clipboard to the waiting room. 

Roy started from the ugly orange chair where he'd dozed. "What… oh. Sure."

"Follow me then, please." She marched through the blank hallways, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. "Are you family? We've been unable to find any files or records on him…"

Smirking slightly, he said "Not that I know. It was hard enough getting here in time without looking to see if we're related."

She smiled back, making a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat, and they walked on, passing only the occasional wheelchair and staircase as was only reasonable this time of night. For a fleeting second her gray eyes reflected the gold of the soft light coming from an open room, but he quickly silenced the nagging of his memories and the stupid uneasiness. _Shut up._

Stopping before a sterile steel door, she whispered, "He's in pretty bad shape, and still has a moderately high fever. He hasn't yet regained consciousness, but the doctor reckons sleep's best for him at this point. So try not to wake him unless he does so naturally."

_He? _"Don't worry," he reassured her with an expert smile. "I'll just have a look-see and go." Pushing the door handle down, he made to go in when she laid a comforting hand on his arm.

"Would you want us to keep you updated?"

He hesitated a little before nodding.

"…Sure."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

"Fuck dammit, where the hell is he?"

"Patience. At least we know it was done properly."

"Properly? The guy's _gone_. I left him here, and now… poof. Gone." A pause. "I guess he wasn't all that after all."

"Well, if you remember, he did have family to check up on. That was the deal."

"Oh yeah, that…"

"…"

Irritation. "I couldn't help it! He was being an ass!"

"…_All _of them?"

"…"

Sigh. "You're too sloppy."

"So? I like to wrap things up quick."

Silence before the other continued, "At any rate, _he's_ gone, too. If he had been here in the first place."

"You're the one who said it was 'done properly'."

"You know those things are tricky."

"The bastard's here. I can smell it."

"But can you track him…?"

"No. Scent's faded. It's almost like he doesn't have one." Hesitation. "It could be just a side-effect if it _did_ go wrong - a by-product of the process, even if he hadn't show up."

"Does that happen often?"

"Couldn't say. It's a possibility."

"But just in case…"

"Yeah. We'll have to keep an eye out."

They stared at different things before the first one finally sighed irritably.

"Get your people to do it. He can't have gone far."

"He's pulled stunts like these before. We can't underestimate him."

Laughter. "What, after all this time you think he's still _trouble_? That he's even who he used to be? Ah, but you're young still, _Grandfather_."

There was a slight frown on that face. "I admit you have more years and experience with these matters, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

The other's reply came out rather carelessly while idly picking up a green beetle that had landed on a lemon tree. It struggled between thumb and forefinger as a smiling face observed it in temporary amusement. The black body was squeezed lightly in warning and it stopped trying to escape.

"I suppose not. But believe me…"

The beetle did not make a sound as both its wings were idly torn off, but perhaps that was for the better.

"…We have _nothing_ to worry about."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Well? What'd you think? We still don't know who the poor person is... but it's not a bad chapter, is it? I kinda worried it was too short, too long... it's so damn hard to figure out where to cut off my scenes. But I think I'll save some for next chapter. We'll see.

And what do you think of that last part? Any guesses? Curious at all?

The review response on that last chapter was _great_. Now, if you guys would not let me down on this one, I think I'll be so happy... I could write another chapter. :P

And who knows - if you get me to the 200 mark, someone may get a drabble in their honor...

Till next time!

Love, Rockpaperscissor


	14. In Which It Still Rains

**_Chapter 13: In Which It Still Rains_**

* * *

_"Could I wing me to my rest amid the roar _

_Of the deep Adriatic on the shore, _

_Where the waters of Eridanus are clear, _

_And Phaethon's sad sisters by his grave _

_Weep into the river, and each tear _

_Gleams, a drop of amber, in the wave."_

- Euripedes, _Hippolytus _

* * *

The room was just like any other hospital room, Roy supposed, with plain off-white curtains over the windows, two blue chairs, and a large bed as well as all that medical junk he didn't care to know the name of. All in all, not very unlike the many hospital rooms he himself had had the misfortune of staying in or visiting. 

They had dressed him in the loose turquoise pants that hospitals always seemed to have an abundant supply of, and his skinny torso appeared to be bare under the thick woolen blanket, although it was heavily bandaged. The breathing that raised and lowered the chest was harsh and loud; it echoed eerily in the small room, making the hairs on the back of Roy's neck stand ominously.

He approached the bed quietly, looking for the first time upon the countenance of the man he'd rescued.

It seemed to be composed wholly of sharp angles, and he had the impression that the eyes, when opened, would be soulful and too large for his face. _Either he has always been really skinny, or he's seen some hard times lately. _The skin was pale, albeit a bit flushed. And the hair…

_Stupid, Ed's hair was much shorter than that… _

_Shut up. _All things considered, Roy thought, ignoring the tugging on his mind, the man – boy? – was nothing really to write home about. The only possibly remarkable feature was the long gray (Roy was unwilling to call it silver) hair, tangled but silky, which seemed totally incongruous with his relatively young features. If it hadn't been for that, he would have appeared to be somewhere under twenty-one.

Not that Roy was good at guessing ages or anything.

The patient made a small noise, and Roy's eyes went back to the face. Hesitating, he touched the back of his hand to the forehead.

He recoiled instantly, hand feeling as if it were burnt. _Fuck, she wasn't kidding, was she? He really is bad off. Should I call her? Didn't she say she was going to wait outside the door? _

_'Moderately high'… Do they know he's like this…?_

A cough jolted him out of his hurried thoughts, and he instantly turned his attention back to the now.

He'd been right, he thought absently. Those eyes were _way_ too large when they were open.

"You're in a hospital," Roy hurried to interject before the other could ask the clichéd question. "Xenotime."

The voice was much too weak and hoarse, even for his condition – perhaps _especially _for his condition, because Roy didn't remember anything about the guy's throat written on the chart.

It didn't sound old, though. More like a teenager with a really bad cold.

"…Hos…pital…?"

Roy stopped an impromptu urge to roll his eyes. "Hospital. Place for the sick." He waited, finally sighing as no flicker of recognition showed itself in the dull brown eyes. "Creepy doctors, bossy nurses, vomit-like medicine… any of these ringing a bell?"

"Heh," the man finally let out a breath. "I… fig…figured…" His speech was slow and awkward, as if he was teaching himself a long-forgotten art. (_Brain damage…? _Roy pondered). He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, and, failing that, looked down at himself and his bandages in poorly concealed surprise. "…Wha…?"

Disorientation, Roy thought knowingly as the other finally managed to sit up on the white pillows. "You were found like that. I was hoping you could perhaps enlighten the situation."

He was staring at himself. "I… c-can…?" he raised his un-bandaged left hand to his face and looked at it in bewildered wonder before snapping his attention back to the military officer. "…Oh. Yes. Who are you?" He seemed to have an easier time thinking up words now, but they still came no less hoarse or slow.

Mustang crossed his arms, stepping closer so that the other could get a good look at his face. "Lieutenant-General Roy Mustang. I was the one who found you. Now, who are-"

The other frowned, stopping him mid-sentence.

"That's… not right." The man cocked his head to the side slightly. His long hair rustled as it brushed his elbows. "Are you … famous…?"

_Odd question. _"I am well known," he allowed, not letting his face change from its usual stolid expression - it wouldn't do for him to smirk just right then. "I wouldn't go so far as famous, but it wouldn't be surprising if you've heard my name."

One day, it would be because everyone knew the Furher's name…

He closed his cloudy eyes. "It sounds… strange. Funny..."

Roy blinked. Had he just been insulted?

"…It sounds… wrong…"

He tried to be understanding, although his fingers did twitch behind his back. The man _was_ injured and fevered, he reminded himself, and likely didn't even know what he was saying. "I'm afraid that _is_ my name, however."

"I guess… you can't help it…"

Uneasiness. For some reason, this guy was getting under his skin. He ignored the comment and instead asked,

"Do you remember why you're like this?"

And for a long moment, he thought the other would not answer.

"Yes…"

* * *

The nurse gave him a smile as he entered the lobby, then quickly dropped it in favor of something more serene and sympathetic as she remembered the reason he was there. 

"Was your visit productive, sir?"

He shook his head as he took out the umbrella he'd bought in the gift shop and snapped it open. "Afraid not. Didn't know him after all."

They had only talked for a short time, though it could be thought longer considering that the other should have spent it sleeping off whatever was wrong with him. The quiet man – _I still don't know his name, _Roy realized suddenly – was amiable yet still listless and aloof, and had evaded Roy's questions like a skillful diplomat. The few things the curious General could glean from him were mostly only inferences and observations, but Roy Mustang could not have gotten this far without being the least bit observant.

First and foremost was the conclusion that he was a wanderer – or at least that he'd traveled a long time. His legs seemed rather weak, but were by far the most muscular part of his body. They were scratched up and bruised many different colors, just like the rest of him, indicating a hard journey and a lengthy one. But just as obvious was something strange in his eyes that radiated awkwardness with the soft bed and the white walls, a sort of suppressed restlessness that seemed to imply that he'd like nothing better than getting out and walking under the open sky.

He also seemed to be half-starved, but remedying that situation didn't appear to be one of his top priorities. Indeed, although the talk was short, he hadn't brought up food even once, and when Roy offered him a cup of soup which had been left on the table (just in case) the guy hadn't even twitched before politely refusing. Either he'd somehow built up a high tolerance for hunger, pain or discomfort – which could mean that he'd been poor or underprivileged all his life – or that, for some reason… hunger, pain or discomfort simply didn't _register _with him. The latter theory may appear ridiculous, but Roy knew all too well that in some situations, moving forward by ignoring pain was the only resort one could take.

Deriving the man's origins was not such a difficult task, however. There was a lilt in the way he spoke which was nearly indistinct, but Mustang's sharp ears had picked it up and instantly found it foreign. Curiously enough, however, by the time he'd drifted off to sleep he'd begun to speak like a native-born, urban Amestrian – and a relatively educated one at that, though his speech sounded rather colloquial for Roy's military ears. It was quite possible he was from Central or one of the other great cities of Amestris, perhaps a beggar or a vagabond – or even from a more rural town, close to Central or East City.

His age was still something the General could not quite figure out, and he had barely restrained himself from asking the man about it outright. But an interrogation was probably the last thing the patient needed (however much Roy might appreciate it) and his age hadn't been a particularly important nor pressing subject.

But the man was a puzzle. Roy enjoyed a challenge, but he performed better at games of tactics and intrigue than unsolvable enigmas. He was a chess man, after all.

And yet, Mustang reminded himself, it is true that in order to play chess, one must first know what the pieces are…

"That's a shame," she said kindly, startling him from his thoughts. "But I'm sure he'll be very grateful next time you visit him. He'll surely be awake by then."

Next time… there wasn't going to be one. He had to be at Central Station by next week, and the future Furher couldn't afford to take time off his schedule to visit a civilian patient. It's not like he _knew _the man, after all…

But for some reason, Roy doubted that was the last he'd seen of him. The General nodded to the nurse and left through the lobby door, holding his umbrella above him.

It was still raining like shit.

* * *

There was a rather long line at the train station, and Roy found himself tapping his foot impatiently. 

Really, you'd think being a General would have some fringe benefits…

"Do you want to take my place?"

He blinked and looked at the speaker, who turned out to be a teenager with brown hair and big, kind eyes that watched him amiably.

"…No, thank you," he finally responded. He had his pride, thank you very much. "If only it didn't take so long, though," he muttered to himself.

"There's a lot of traffic nowadays between Xenotime and the rest of Amestris," she said rather proudly. "But no one can regret coming here - Xenotime is a center of commerce and activity."

That pamphlet-like description was not too far off from reality, Roy reflected. Xenotime was such a bustling, prosperous town now… "It really has changed from the dump it was before."

The girl smiled sheepishly, acknowledging the comment for the truth it was. "It _had_ been pretty bad, hadn't it… but it's been loads better since Russell and Fletcher came here and helped us out. They practically raise the town back from the ashes - their work with the trees was amazing…"

"I've heard of it," he replied.

She sighed, lost in memories. "Fletcher was good with grapefruit, and he really liked helping out. But the older one – that's Russell – wanted his own bookshop, once that was done and the town was back on its feet. Something about paying a debt and living their own lives, I don't know… Whenever I asked him, he'd just say that he has legs, so he'll use them to keep walking his own way." She paused. "Uncle didn't really get it either, I don't think."

Mustang's eyebrows rose. "He has legs…?" he repeated slowly.

And then he understood.

_Ah. _He almost chuckled. Of course.

_Fullmetal._

"I know. Random, right? But he was always a little off. One of my favorite people in the world, but he had his moments."

"Sounds like an interesting fellow."

She grinned. "Well, he's an alchemist, you know. Uncle says that must account for most of the peculiarities."

"Nice man, your uncle," Roy said wryly.

Elisa laughed prettily.

"Nah, he just knows about alchemists, that's all."

* * *

_Author's Note: _Ta-dah! Here it is, chapter 13... ominous music 

So. Here we have the patient, still nameless. But at least he talked a little, right? And Roy being his usual tactless and smartass self... I think I did good today. :)

Haha... I enjoy keeping all of you in the dark...

As for Elisa, the girl in that last bit - she's a minor character from the Russel and Fletcher episode, who's uncle owns a farm. Like I said before, this fic is a mix of manga and anime. I happened to want to use her, so I did.

Oh, and for those who didn't get it... each hundred reviews I'm gonna write a drabble. If the review happens to be unsigned, which would be unfortunate, then I'll just ask someone who's reviews I like what they want me to write about. My first story, called _To Kiss A Girl_ (yucky name, I know), is already up on my author's page. If you like it, and want me to write a drabble for you, you can still send me requests, although I reserve the right whether to use them or not.

Please review!


	15. In Which No Paperwork Gets Done

**_Chapter 14: In Which No Paperwork Gets Done_**

* * *

_"Never made it as a wise man  
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'  
Tired of livin' like a blind man  
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling, _

_And this is how you remind me...  
This is how you remind me of what I really am..."_

- Nickelback, _How You Remind Me_

* * *

Jean Havoc leaned back on the sofa, putting his legs up on the table and yawning wide for them all to see before placing a well-earned (in his opinion) cigarette between his lips. "Good to be back in Central, isn't it General?" 

They glared at him.

"If I were you, Havoc, I wouldn't be talking for another month _at least_," Farman muttered.

He cringed slightly and put his hands up defensively. "Hey hey, it wasn't that bad, was it? I mean, I found them in the end."

Hawkeye narrowed her eyes. "You mean _we_ found them."

Kain Fury sighed and wiped his glasses with a tissue before placing them back on his face. "I still don't understand how you roped everyone into finding all your girlfriend's puppies. It has to be some sort of talent. I mean, we're not even the ones who let them loose."

Havoc raised one finger. "First of all, she's _not_ my girlfriend. Second," he raised another one, "I was just trying to get in the back door. I couldn't have known she kept bloodthirsty animals locked inside the house. I mean, come on. It's not exactly sane."

For the record, Havoc had been rather fond of dogs. However, after getting repeatedly bitten and growled at, dress uniform mauled, shoes digested and urinated on by Clarice's dogs during the search (and on later visits), he was understandably rather bitter. The pups (Great Danes, the lot of them) had also had become attached to his cigarette packs, and enjoyed stealing it and burying it underground for their own personal amusement (to tell the truth, the amusement lay less with the game and more with Havoc's reaction to finding his cigarettes covered with dirt and dog slobber).

That had been the final straw as far as Havoc was concerned, and from then on Havoc had declared war with the creatures. Never mind that they were only six months old – it was _war. _

Until he was called back to Central, that is. Not that he in any way regretted the fact - the battlefront had been getting rather desperate.

"But just _why_ he was trying to get in the back door when she's _not_ his girlfriend, I still don't get…" Breda muttered.

"Besides," Havoc continued, "there was no way I could find thirty-five dogs by myself, and Clarice would have killed me if I lost a single one."

Roy shuddered. "That reminds me. In the future, make sure to keep your homicidal girlfriends away from military headquarters - in fact, keep _all _of them away. If that's how you set your standards, I don't even want to _meet_ them."

"That woman was scary," the other guys agreed, giving off shudders of their own.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Havoc protested. "I don't even _have_ a -"

He looked down, suddenly struck mute by the realization.

"Oh no…" Fury and Breda stepped back hastily. Roy pressed a hand against his eyes and thought furiously, '_Why **me**?' _while Farman rested his head on the table, _really_ wishing he hadn't already used up all his vacation days for the year.

Hawkeye just rolled her eyes.

"I'm p-pa…PATHETIC!" Havoc sniveled spectacularly. "Girl-less! Womanless! Can I sink any lower? Is there no one that cares for Jean Marj Havoc in this cruel, cruel world?"

They blinked out of their misery.

"Marj? As in Marjorie?" Riza looked askance at him. "…Isn't that a girl's name?"

She wasn't the only one surprised.

"His name is Marj?" Farman asked Breda in a skeptical undertone. "I don't remember _that _being on his file…"

"He probably left it out on purpose. But I say we go back and check, just in case."

"Yeah, wouldn't be surprised if he lives with his mother, too…"

Meanwhile, Fury shook his head. "Some parents are just vindictive. I mean, Marj? Jean? They're bad enough by themselves, but combined it's simply…. _evil_…"

"Leave my name alone, you fiends!" Havoc exploded, flustered. "Can't you see I'm going through a bit of a midlife crisis here?"

"Get a hold of yourself, Lieutenant Marjorie," Roy rifled through the documents on his desk, not looking up as the lieutenant yelped out "_General!_" in indignation. "You're not old enough for a midlife crisis, anyway."

"The way he drives, he shouldn't even be old enough for a license," Riza teased.

"Guys, I _really_ don't appreciate this," Havoc groaned. "What is this, 'pick on Havoc' day?"

Breda looked at Farman.

Farman looked at Fury.

Fury looked at Hawkeye.

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, but seemed to agree anyway.

"It's 'Pick On Havoc Day'," they confirmed.

Roy shook his head wryly, looking back at his papers. He paused as he saw a letter addressed to him from Xenotime City Hospital.

_To General Roy Mustang: _

_We regret to inform you that the man you placed in our care has disappeared without a trace a number of days ago. The nurses suspect that he is on a journey of some sort, but in spite of several short conversations with the patient, both name and destination remain unknown. It is unlikely that he will get far because of his condition, however, and if anything comes up we will not hesitate to inform you. _

_Sorry for this misfortune. _

_Dr. Patrick Campbell, _

_Head of Xenotime General Hospital. _

Roy stared at it expressionlessly, cursing in his head incompetent medical staff who weren't capable of keeping track of one sickly half-starved and near-death patient. He looked at the back of the letter and snorted in disgust as he saw the date to have been from a month before.

'A number of days ago'? He'd only _left _the man there a number of days before the stupid letter was sent! Never mind that he should have gotten the letter earlier... it was still absurd.

"- But of course, not that _he'd _care…"

_Oh well_, he sighed. Useless, the lot of them. _Nothing I can do about it now. _

"Sorry," the general looked up. "What was it?"

Havoc sniffed. "What a listener, _Roy_. I was just saying that all of you are utterly, _utterly_ cruel and inconsiderate of me and my feelings and my…"

"Womanless condition?" Fury put in helpfully.

They all took turns whacking the man on the head as Havoc burst into fresh dramatic sobs.

* * *

"Fancy a stroll, Lieutenant?" a grizzled old soldier grinned at her from his post near the stair entrance of the main building. "It's a lovely day out." 

Second Lieutenant Ross smiled and waved in acknowledgement. "Maybe I will." She was done with all the paperwork, anyway…

"I'll come with," Broche fell in stride beside her. "I need some fresh air after all those forms…" he stretched languorously.

"It's good to be free," she replied wistfully, much of the same mind.

They wandered the streets for a while, enjoying the feel of being out of uniform and being able to observe the daily grind of citizen life without the conspicuousness of a military outfit. "Do you think we'll ever be like that?" Ross asked as they watched an old couple argue over the price of a shirt, but still hold hands like shy teenagers.

"'That'?" he asked inquisitively. She was _not_ implying what he thought she was… was she?

"Old and happy."

Oh. "And boring?"

"Not boring," she protested as they passed the couple by. "Secure. Content."

"Boring, you mean." He thought it over, than shook his head. "Nah."

"Why not?"

He scratched his head, shrugging. "We're _military_, Ross. Chances are that if we do live past forty, we still won't be content with anything less than mildly dangerous or exciting."

"You call paperwork exciting?" she asked dryly.

"Well, no…"

She glanced back at the old pair, then back at their path. "I think I'd be able to adjust."

Broche smiled at her fondly, remembering the way she took care of certain boys in spite of her 'official' duties. "If any one of us could, it would be you."

"Why'd you say that?"

He shrugged vaguely.

"Oh, this and that."

"Huh," she smiled, not pressing him.

He suddenly frowned.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I thought I... saw someone..."

"We're in a civilian street, Broche. I would be surprised if there _wasn't_ a 'someone'."

His frown deepened, and his eyes still didn't glance away. "But it's... he was hurt. And... familiar somehow."

"What?" she looked where he was staring - a dark corner of an alley. "I don't see anything…"

He shook himself and smiled at her. "Never mind. Must have imagined it."

But as they walked away, he was still staring over his shoulder.

* * *

He needed someone else to dump this on. 

"And here… and here… that line there… and in that little box over there too, I think…"

Pronto.

"Sir? The form is over here, you know."

Roy moaned into his arms. Now that Riza was a Major, she couldn't perform in the same capacity she had before, and everything had changed - for the worse. Oh, she was still under his jurisdiction and hung around the office and brought him coffee from time to time (not nearly often enough), but now she had her own tasks to be concerned with, her own assignments, and between this and that she simply couldn't aid him with paperwork. While Miss I'll-shoot-you-if-you-don't-get-moving still never missed an opportunity to threaten him with a firearm to fulfill his responsibilities, she could not, - as had been her custom - quietly delegate paperwork to Breda or Fury whenever the General had been (_understandably_, mind you) overwhelmed with work and stress.

And really, even now that Havoc's been promoted to First Lieutenant in her place, it seemed that it only got harder - the capable smoker couldn't get his commander to complete his work to the same effect as Riza and her pistol, and he was too wily to let all the paperwork get dumped on him. Plus, Breda, Farman, and Fury kept him well-bribed so that any excessive delegation of work was impossible.

All in all, that left Mustang rather miserable.

There was only one brilliant, totally spontaneous and original conclusion to be made, and he wondered that he hadn't thought of it before. "I need a secretary."

Havoc paused in his millionth attempt to get Roy to sign the mandatory order form for purple highlighters. "Well, it's about time."

He blinked. "Really?"

…And here he thought he was being spontaneous and original.

"Generals are the only military officials allowed to be appointed a secretary. Most generals hire one about two months after their first promotion, finding the workload too difficult to handle or seeing it as a sort of perk that comes with the advancement. It makes work easier for both them and their subordinates," Breda said idly as he bit the end of his pen. Damn, but this crossword was hard…

"And how do you know all this?" Mustang asked suspiciously.

He didn't even deign to glance over. "I read," the redhead replied, wondering what was a ten-letter word for 'omnipresent'.

"How long has it been for the General?" Fury wondered.

Jean cocked his head. "Well, his promotion was a couple years ago…" He did the math – well, some of it. "…Four years…?"

Roy blanched. "You mean I could have had a secretary all this time?"

"Ubiquitous!" Breda crowed in satisfaction.

Farman blinked at Mustang. "Well, yes."

He put his head in his hands. "Why did no one tell me of this?"

"Thought you knew, sir," Farman answered hesitantly.

"Besides," Havoc grinned and took his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, "you were doing just fine without one. Even Major Hawkeye was impressed by how you managed without her - she told me she thought you'd worm your way out of it like with everything else. She didn't think you could be that responsible."

"Don't make me hurt you," Mustang threatened half-heartedly.

Havoc chuckled smugly. "Hey, I was surprised too when you let us off so easy. I honestly thought you'd just dump it all on us. Not that I'm complaining, mind – I was pulling overtime before as it was, and it's nice to go home at a decent hour…"

"It's good to have a little time to ourselves," Fury agreed.

"I got it! Ideal Gas Law! That's the proper condensed formula for gas properties!" he exclaimed and jumped to his feet, his hands in the air in a victory sign. "It couldn't be V1T1--V2T2 because there has to be some constant involved, and the pressure isn't standard! I. Am. A. Genius!"

They turned and stared at him with varying degrees of bafflement.

Breda blinked. "What?"

* * *

_Author's Note: _Sorry for not updating in so long... college would be much more fun without classes. Although it's still way better than high school. 

About this chapter - I may have had a little too much fun with Havoc. And in general. I freely admit it. Havoc's a bit satirized, a little bashed. And while Breda is in fact incredibly smart, I doubt he'd do crossword puzzles. Though maybe he would - you never know. All in all, it was pretty light. Oh well. I felt there was a need for some office gang love. And there is some sort-of-necessary plot points that were covered here, so I'm pretty happy. Plus I got Broche in there, which is pretty awesome. (At the rate this is going, I'm gonna have all the characters make a cameo...)

A lot of people seemed to enjoy my silly EdWin drabble, which I find both startling and humbling. If you want another one... well, you know what to do. (shameless grin)

What do you think of the new summary? Someone told me the old one pretty much sucked. Being the amiable, considerate person I am, I changed it. And if you don't like it... (shakes fist threateningly)

Next chapter, there is a 99.9 percent chance of pink sparkles. Hope you enjoy. :)


	16. In Which An Interview Is Interrupted

_**Chapter 15: In Which There Is An Interrupted Interview**__

* * *

_

_"I would like to reach out my hand _

_who may see you, _

_who may tell you to run... _

_You know what they say about the young._

_Well, pick me up with one golden hand _

_who may see you, _

_who may tell you to run... _

_You know what they say about the young..."_

- Rusted Root, "Send Me On My Way"

* * *

The new cafeteria was rather excellent, Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong thought as he quickly strode his way back to headquarters. There was a much larger and better selection than usual for military dining halls, but it was only fitting that such a large and important city as Central was equipped with the finest there was to offer. 

He puffed his chest. And to think that he had a part in diverting the funds for this project! To think that he was the instigator, the creator of such a magnificent work of art! He was almost as proud of it as of his grandfather's famous treatise on separating rock formations for use of different elements through alchemy, which had awarded the man several grants in his field of geological alchemy, or his great-uncle's thesis on the ettiquette of fine Drachmian hospitality. It was certainly an Armstrong tradition to provide the best and for the best -

"…Oomph."

Strange. Puzzled for a moment as to the source of that sound, the Colonel took some precious time out of his ruminations to suddenly notice that he'd stopped walking. Wondering at the cause, he looked down - to see a figure in the course of picking itself off the ground.

It seemed rather difficult, so he valiantly helped the process along by pulling up on the unfortunate's collar and gently (well, gently for a seven foot giant) setting him down on his feet. "Apologies!" he bellowed, startling a couple of passersby who glanced at him and thereafter quickly walked away. "Let me atone for this grievance by-"

"It's fine, really," the other said quietly, detaching his coat from the huge hands.

"Nonsense! My conscience could not bear it!" he gestured dramatically and randomly flexed his arms . "It would go against the tradition of the Armstrongs, the moral values that have kept my family in power for generations! After such a grievous insult to your person, I _must_ earn your forgiveness!" He flexed again, and for some reason the spectacle caused such dazedness in the viewer's eyes that one could have _sworn _he was surrounded by pink flecks of light.

The stranger, for his part, looked a tad baffled by the assault (and a bit disconcerted at the sparkles), though in truth his face betrayed little. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm sorry for running into you."

"Nonsense, I was the culprit. Let me at least escort you to your destination," the Colonel boomed, clapping a hand to the other's back and nearly toppling him over.

He seemed troubled, and almost sheepish. "That's… not necessary…"

"But I must insist!"

He bowed his head. "I was… making my way over there…" And he pointed to the military headquarters' central building.

"Ah." Armstrong gazed at it, a bit at a loss. "I see…"

They began walking nonetheless. The Colonel was surprised to notice that he didn't have to slow down; though the other's strides were much shorter than his, they made up for it by being brisk and quick.

He had caught a rather strange fish, Armstrong thought inwardly. With that soft voice, slender frame and the unmarked, unlined face, the man could have passed for a youth, even a teenager. But those unenergetic movements, the blank, dull eyes and the almost hunched, unobtrusive way he walked… it entirely threw off the onlooker.

…And that hair did nothing to clear up the matter, he added to himself.

But, he perked up in that obstinately cheerful way of his, that could certainly be remedied. No one was impervious to the Armstrong charm, after all!

Matter settled, he began to employ that charm through small talk. "What business have you there?"

Staring straight at where he was going, the answer came rather belatedly. "I don't know."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you have an assignment?"

"No."

"Do you have someone to meet?"

"No."

Stranger and stranger.

"…Are you not a soldier?" he asked finally.

"No…"

Well, that made sense, seeing as his attire (jeans and a long worn brown coat) appeared entirely civilian, but…

"How did you enter the military compound?" Armstrong queried in confusion.

It was a legitimate question to ask. Recently, the Furher had proposed a plan to encircle military buildings with an armored fence. This was a rather encumbering and troublesome endeavor as military bases were scattered throughout Central, and construction would be costly and in the process impair the movement of both soldiers and civilians throughout the city. Since the central command and several important buildings were clumped together on the map, however, it was agreed that a single fence surrounding them would be sufficient. This meant that access to military edifices would be severely restricted.

The stranger didn't give off any malicious vibes – rather the opposite, he almost felt like the odd man required _protection_ – but Armstrong doubted that the guards at the entrance took kind faces into consideration; it wasn't their job. They weren't supposed to let any civilian have access to headquarters unless they were authorized to or had the proper pass. Only the Central library complex, being outside the main facilities, was entirely ran by civilians, and even that had its guards and devoted (obsessive?) national alchemists poring over books of science in its alcoves.

"Is that what this is?" the other said in surprise. "I just walked in through the gate."

"Ah," he nodded genially, concealing his surprise and making a mental note to have a little talking-to with the guards. It wasn't a prudent habit to just let strangers walk through – he assumed that was the case, because he couldn't see how the guards at the gate could have missed someone walking _through _it…

He didn't question it, however. What's done is done, and if the man had truly done such a remarkable thing, it was better to befriend and find his secrets than scare him away. "Then why are you here?"

The other paused for a moment before he answered. "I just… had a feeling. Seemed as good a place as any."

Armstrong couldn't help glancing down at the much shorter man in confusion. "You don't have a reason?"

Shrug. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Ah. "You only just came to Central," the big man guessed. "You're looking for a job and a place to stay."

The light brown eyes blinked up at him. "I guess that would... be all right…"

Armstrong nodded importantly, having come to a noble decision. He puffed his chest. "It would help one to have contacts in the military, in that case."

"There was… a man I talked to, once…" he mumbled hesitantly. "Seemed kind of important…"

He deflated. "That _would_ make things a bit easier. Who was it?"

"Colonel…er… Dullard? Mustard?" he tried to recall. It wasn't that long ago, but he wasn't used to needing to remember people's names again. _Just one more thing to get used to. _"No…Musty? …Rusty?"

"Major-General Mustang?" Armstrong exclaimed in realization before the other could butcher the name any further. "That is fortunate – his office is right here!" he remarked, before nodding to the building just ahead of them and beaming generously. "What a stroke of good fortune! What happy coincidence!"

"…Or maybe it _was_ Mustard… sounds right…" he murmured, not listening.

"I'm sure he'd be relieved that I found one for him!" Armstrong boomed happily, also in his own little world.

The other man, hearing this, wondered only a little at the enigmatic remark, and walked silently beside the well-meaning monster of a man. He was both a little bothered and bewildered at what was happening; he'd truly come here without a plan or a motive, simply because that's the way he'd done it for so many years, and he didn't really appreciate breaking the pattern. But at least they were walking where he wanted to go.

He frowned. 'Wanted'…?

He couldn't discern it. Something… he didn't know what, but for some reason he felt, as they neared, like something was… would be…

(Had been…?)

Almost _right_…

The colonel stopped in front of him and turned, offering him his hand. "…Of course, it would help to know your name when introducing you," he said, smiling widely. "I am Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong."

For the first time, an expression made itself palpable on the other's face, although the feeling behind it was unclear – hesitation? Annoyance?

…Pain?

_- "This boy is my ward, for me to protect!" - _

_- She laughed, and he wondered what that noise was - _

_- "What brings ya to this part of the world" - _

_- The hand shook as it reached out to him, and he reached to hold it even though he knew it would be for naught - _

_- His companion shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yerself, laddie-buck-" _

_- "I don't care what's real or not, I'm _worried_ for you-" _

_- But no matter what he did, it was never _enough –

_- "What will happen?" the small voice asked. "When I'm gone? Will you be sad?" _

_He shook his head desperately. "Don't think about that, it doesn't matter a jot" - _

_- It slipped _through_ - _

_- The old woman smiled through her pain, coughing, and he could see the girl he'd known peeking through the opaque veil of age. "I… want you to know… that I always thought of you… as a guardian angel…" _

He shrugged it off and took the proffered hand, not smiling, but then not _not _smiling either.

"Ward Enkelbert," he spoke softly. "...I go by Ward."

The blue eyes twinkled.

"...Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ward."

* * *

"Hobbies?" 

"I like to go shopping and read…"

"Read what?"

The attractive redhead blushed becomingly as she looked downwards. "I dabble in alchemy here and there, I confess…"

His eyebrow rose.

Interesting. Very interesting… "What field?"

Sheepish smile as she wound red curls around her finger. "Just to help the flowers grow. I'm no good, really…"

How positively _charming_. "I'm sure that with the proper help you could become much better," he smirked smoothly.

Though theoretically, what she was attempting was impossible - it's beyond difficult to accelerate germination without taking away some fundamental part of the structure of the plant itself. And even if that by some miracle of science could be achieved, it would not be technically ethical...

Her short skirt wrinkled and tightened as she crossed her legs. "If it was someone like you…" she trailed off with a shy smile, tilting her head to the side.

He flipped to the next page on her file. "And what are your credentials?"

"I've worked as a secretary for several large companies, never been fired," _I'll bet on that,_ he thought as he looked at her, "um, and have a multitude of other talents, listed there…"

His eyes widened as he looked through the list, though judging by his smirk it wasn't at all a bad thing. "And what are-"

"Hey General! You got a visitor!" Breda's voice rang out, followed by obnoxious banging on the door.

The black-haired man closed his eyes and tried to find his happy place.

"Mustang! Are you sleeping in there again?"

Roy tapped his fingers against his desk and thought idly that the hospital might be having a sudden surge of residents sometime soon. He'd better call ahead to get the rooms prepared, just in case – his men deserve only the best of care.

The banging paused, then started again one last time. "General Mustang! You better have not set yourself on fire, cause I'm not filling out another damned form if I can help it!"

…Forget the hospital. He'll bring barbecue sauce.

"Mustang! You there?"

Roy cracked his knuckles and patiently waited for the exasperated "It's your funeral…" and the fading footsteps to start over. "So about these additional qualifica-"

"MAJOR-GENERAL MUSTANG!"

He groaned inwardly as he recognized the voice. Thinking morbid, homicidal thoughts, he stood and out his hands on the table. "I apologize," he said, resisting the temptation to put on his gloves just yet, "but I have an unexpected obligation to take care of. We'll give you a call if you pass our… incredibly selective screening process for the job. "

Her low-cut top showed a sweet bit of her stomach as she too stood and frowned cutely. "But sir, we haven't gone over all my resume yet -"

"GENERAL!" the bellow came again, and Mustang's sigh this time was audible. "I HUMBLY REQUEST YOUR PRESENCE!"

"Goodbye," he opened the door for her gentlemanly, but for some reason she seemed rather peeved as she walked out. "I'm sure we'll see each other around."

"But -"

"Good day, Miss!" Colonel Armstrong greeted her.

She 'eeped' in fright and left quite quickly, mysteriously deciding to forego any resistance.

Mustang gave a sigh, leaned against his door and looked up at Armstrong, reminding himself that the other rarely came to him for trivial reasons. "Is something wrong, Colonel? I was in the middle of interviewing someone for the secretarial position…"

"I'm afraid that would be unnecessary," the man rumbled, easily towering over the dark-haired general.

"…And why is that?" he raised an eyebrow.

"For I have found you a worthy candidate."


	17. In Which Mustang is Violent Again

_**Chapter 16: In Which Mustang Is Unnecessarily Violent (Again)** _

**

* * *

**

Warning: Armstrong. Youswell bashing.

* * *

Roy would have rolled his eyes at the dramatic pronouncement, but he knew too well that it would have been lost on the other man. "Candidate, Armstrong?" 

"To be your secretary, of course. Have no fear, for I have done, and have done excellently! There is no further need to search!"

He shut his eyes in what one could call either despair or the sudden need to beat his head violently against the wall. "You _shouldn't_ have troubled yourself, Armstrong…"

"I knew you would be grateful for my assistance," the big man beamed, oblivious as usual. "Ah, but it must have been fate that led me to him, for it is far too great a coincidence -"

"'Him'?" Mustang echoed skeptically, mind conveniently snagged on that particular detail. That wasn't quite what he had in mind, to say the _least_…

"Ward Enkelbert."

"Enkelbert…?" he rolled the strange name in his mouth.

"Come," Armstrong smiled.

In an expectant, dramatic flair, Armstrong walked past the Central gang's main office and opened the door.

There was no one there.

Roy raised his eyebrows, and Armstrong looked around, muttering bemusedly, "I know I left him here…"

He curved his lips and held in a relieved sigh. "It's no matter, Colonel. While regrettable, I do have some other applicants lined up, and I'm sure they'll do the job admirably -" 'multitude of other talents', he remembered fondly, "if not as well as your man." The general slapped the other man's back and turned to go to his team's offices. As he recalled, he had some injuries to deliver.

The walk wasn't a long one, and he could already hear the chatter of his doomed subordinates.

"So what's with the hair?" he heard Havoc say.

"It happened," said someone else with a shrug.

Jumble of voices, and Mustang had to strain his ears to listen before the same one answered, "Arm-wrong, I think… some kind of giant…"

He opened the door.

Faded brown eyes blinked at him. "You're Mustang?"

_

* * *

_

* * *

It wasn't enough. 

He hurled the journal at the wall in a sudden uncharacteristic fit of temper. He'd found a number of the things in a complimentary box the military had sent him (courtesy of the fact he was the only living relative of the 'deceased'). They probably didn't know what they had in their hands, or else they would have kept it for themselves. He didn't think that that guy at Central knew about it, but that was fine with him - he had the odd suspicion that the man would probaby have hidden or burnt them, just so he'd never read them and 'get ideas'.

He sighed, calming himself, and went over to pick it up. The pages made a soft rushing noise as he gently - lovingly - opened the book to somewhere in the middle.

_'The last stop on the eastern train, Youswell, is a small coal mining town with a population of about 250 people all together. It makes its living by providing coal to the military and the occasional tourist that happens to pass by, although that doesn't happen much because it's a dump and there's absolutely nothing to do there. _

_But that might also be because they're all BIG FAT JERKS.__ One moment they offer food and shelter at ridiculous skyrocketing prices, the next they kick you out on your butt to freeze and starve. What kind of crappy service is that? Just because I'm a state alchemist? They should be grateful to me, the cheap bastards. _

_And just what sort of town has only one inn? Geeze. _

_Still, Youswell should be better off in the future if the jerks there have any brains. They do own the town now - courtesy of one selfless and dashing state alchemist who had better things to do with his time than help out some drunk wannabes with a sob story. _

_Ah well. I was hungry._

_At least they don't call me 'revenue' anymore. That was creepy.'_

The book shut closed as he laid it on the table, and he sat down on the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. All the journal was filled with similar pointless entries - for all intents and purposes, it was just a travelogue, written by someone with a crass language and talent for cynicism. There seemed to be nothing particularly important written there; only the names of locations were mentioned as they were described, belittled and figuratively stomped on. It was an entertaining read, to be sure, providing a unique perspective on a broad range of subjects that provided little to no insight to what the author was thinking or truly researching at the time, but there was no way it would be of any importance other than perhaps a sentimental keepsake of a loved one.

...Unless the author was an alchemist who encoded his research, that is.

But even though he'd finally cracked the code a couple of weeks ago, he was still not any better off than when he first started. The research written in the journals he had was of absolutely no relevance to him; what use was there in the alchemy of manipulating heat to obtain a perfect bathing temperature? It was as if the writer had deliberately written the research to sidetrack any pursuers.

Or else the true research had been destroyed, and these journals remained as a ruse.

But then, who had destroyed it? The military could not have; he'd been warned that they would stop at nothing to obtain valuable data, and the people at Central had probably forgotten about the existence of the journals in the first place. Who else could it be?

_Who else..._ Bronze eyes opened in a flash, and he quickly flipped to the front page to stare at the name written there in bold.

He scowled.

_...God**damn** it, Brother..._

_

* * *

_

* * *

Roy stopped, shocked for a scant moment at seeing a stranger's face in the office. Then he was shocked for a scant moment more, because he _knew _this stranger's face - the one he had found on the streets of Xenotime, the guy he had sprinted to the hospital for. Then he stared for a few seconds, still expressionless, and tried to figure out how to react. 

And then he was just pissed.

"You. What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

The other man put up his hands defensively. "Don't ask me," he said, for some reason nodding his head at the general's direction.

"There you are, Mr. Ward," Armstrong's voice came from over Mustang's left shoulder. Ah. That explained it. "You are not where I left you."

Mr. Ward (was that his name?) sounded troubled. "I… felt like coming here. It was nice."

"We do make excellent hosts," Havoc grinned.

His face brightened. "You did offer me donuts. I think I like those."

Farman looked up from his desk where he was reading the newspaper, half-eaten donut in hand, and glanced at the empty box of baked goods. "...Oops. Sorry, Ward."

"Oh..."

"Excuse me," Roy interrupted, "but I do believe I have yet to understand what's going on here."

The man's condition seemed only slightly better, he noted in the meantime. He seemed to have gotten a bit skinnier, if anything – though Roy hadn't thought it possible – but at the same time his clothes seemed to fit better on him, and his muscles were not as atrophied as before. The skin – what showed of it – was not as bruised like the last time they met, though, and the face was a bit rounder, more like a youth's.

Nonetheless, Mustang still sensed that same vibe of awkwardness, strangeness from him. There was a slouch that seemed unnatural almost, defensive, at the ready even if there was nothing to defend himself from.

Armstrong smiled. "He said he knew you, General Mustang."

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the shorter man. "Did he now…?"

"I thought it was mustard," Ward said vaguely, although that did absolutely nothing to clarify the matter.

The Colonel frowned. "I was of the impression you two were acquaintances."

"We met once, and very briefly," he replied shortly. He glared at 'Mr. Ward'. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Ah! Very well, then. I'll introduce you two," Armstrong chirped happily. "Mr. Ward, this is Major-General Roy Mustang. General, this is Ward Enkelbert, your new secretary."

"New secretary?" Mustang yelped. "Him?"

Ward seemed equally as dubious. "Me?"

"Have some compassion!" Armstrong put his hand on Ward's shoulder, appealing to Mustang's benevolent side. "Having come from afar, Mr. Ward has no means of shelter or support." He flexed his biceps, inadvertently tightening his grip on Ward and causing a muffled cry to escape him. "By the beauty of my body, I swore to make certain he would not be neglected and impoverished," he pronounced dramatically, taking his hand away so he could give a better display of said 'beauty'. "Mr. Ward will be taken care of, or my name is not Alex Louis Armstrong!"

Ward flinched as he massaged his aching shoulder. _I really hope it isn't…_

The general remained unmoved by the display. "Is he even qualified?"

"Well -"

Armstrong beamed as he spoke over Ward and put his hand back where it had been, much to the latter's dismay. "I am certain he will learn quickly."

"Does he know how to read and write?"

Ward tried again, "I -"

"Do not be so unkind, General Mustang. You will offend his gentle disposition."

It was sometime after this point that Ward spaced out of the conversation. He didn't bother, as others might, to protest the 'gentle' comment, to wonder 'why me?', or even whether he would at the very least get some food out of this mess.

'How troublesome,' was Ward's last thought before beginning to stare vacantly into space, which happened to be right next to the clock on the wall. There also happened to be a rather large mosquito on the hour hand, which led him to wonder idly if pink sparkles could serve as an effective insect repellent. He'd provided nourishment for what felt like a considerable percentage of the species on the walk to Central, and from what he saw of the man's bare chest earlier (the man had a disturbing tendency to take his shirt off), there were no marks or bites to speak of. It was a curious phenomenon.

Though, effective or not, he still wasn't planning on adopting the man's method anytime soon...

"Do you have a place for him to stay? You know that civilians cannot be assigned military quarters, Armstrong."

"He could go with-"

"I will not ask my men to share their accommodations. They have no cause nor duty to do so."

"Then I-"

"And since you are a colonel, it would be inappropriate for him to live with you," he interjected, and didn't miss the relieved look on Ward's face as the latter realized the danger he'd just barely escaped. _Not a complete idiot, then. _"Especially as he'd be under _my_ command."

Armstrong looked blankly at Mustang for several seconds before reluctantly admitting, "That is true."

"Then it's settled," Mustang declared triumphantly. "He cannot work here."

The silence that followed his words wasn't a pregnant one, nor was it particularly heavy. Actually, the silence was just that – a silence.

"Oh well," the subject of their argument remarked, as it finally registered that they were done talking about him. He tugged himself away from the Colonel's tight hold on his shoulders and pulled on his coat. "…Nice meeting you again, Mustang." Ward paused a little, then looked up at the man who brought him here. "And, er… thank you, Colonel. See ya."

Roy watched as he did this, and held out for a wonderfully long while under Armstrong's supplicant glare. The general was famous for his absolutely conscience-free conscience; guilt and pity alone would not move him.

Really, it was only because Alex's face was getting ridiculously pathetic that he sighed out reluctantly, "Hold on a moment... Mr. Ward."

The man turned.

He tapped the desk impatiently with a forefinger as he leaned on it with one hand. "What is your work policy?"

"...What's that?"

Roy's intense stare didn't budge from Ward's face. "Are you a hard worker?"

Ward blinked in surprise, and straightened his slouch a little. "Er… I think I might be…"

He glanced at Armstrong, then snapped his gaze back to the young man. "Do you in fact need this job?"

"I..." Ward stopped himself to consider the matter thoroughly. There wasn't anything particular that he needed to buy or obtain, nor did he hold any desire for a meaningless bauble. Actually, he'd have no problem –

_Rrrrowl_.

He hastily revised his assessment. _Food would be nice. _"…Well, yes."

"Do you have any experience in secretarial work?"

"Don't think so…"

"Where are you from?"

"I came from Xenotime."

"Do you have any history of disease, mental illness, treachery, military service, colorful sparkles or weapon handling in your family?"

"Not that I know…"

"Any skills or talents I should be aware of?"

He shook his head.

"Are you capable of reading, writing and/or performing menial tasks?"

"…Probably?"

Roy sighed. "I see."

Flash of movement, and Ward blinked several times as he found himself suddenly struggling for air, a strong hand fisting his collar and practically picking him off the ground.

"If any harm comes to them when you're there, I will hold you _personally_ accountable," Mustang hissed. "Understand?"

"W-wha…?" he choked out, trying in vain to pry himself away.

Dark midnight eyes came close to his, and the pressure on his throat tightened. Ward could dimly hear protests from the other men, but Mustang ignored them, eyes glinting dangerously. "Perhaps we haven't been _properly_ introduced, 'Mr. Ward'. I am Major-General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. I can roast a full grown man to a crisp with just a snap of my fingers in approximately one tenth of a second. I can also draw out the process for several hours if I so wished it." He brought his non-throttling hand frighteningly close to Ward's face, as if debating whether to illustrate the point on the spot, and lowered his voice. "In other words: anything happens to them, I kill you. And I will _not_ make it quick. Is that clear?"

He was starting to see black pulses at the corners of his vision, and his struggling arms fell uselessly to his sides. "I-"

"Is that _clear_?" he repeated.

Although it was hard to move past the hand at his gullet, Ward managed to nod.

Mustang released him, and he promptly fell to the floor. "Havoc, I want you to get clearance for a new desk and an authorized pass to Central Headquarters for civilians. Farman, get going on Mr. Ward's transcript and official records. Make it suitably spotless. Breda, help him. Fury, as you were."

"Yes sir!" they saluted and dispersed.

He stopped Fury with a hand on his arm as the latter walked by him. "If Lieutenant Hawkeye should come by, inform her that I'm legitimately busy." He paused, seemed to think for a bit, then took back his words. "Actually, tell her I still do not plan on changing my marital status. At least not if there are any pictures of the occasion."

"Sir?" Fury let out uncertainly.

"She'll understand where to find me."

"Uh… right, sir." He hurried off.

"You'll be taking him, then?" Armstrong asked quietly.

Mustang ignored the question, saying coolly, "I expect a _full_ explanation later, Colonel. You," he turned to Ward, who was still lying dazedly on the ground. "Follow me if you want dinner."

* * *

_A/N: _Whoa, I just realized I forgot to do one of these for the last chapter. Whoops. 

Also, I apologize for not responding to reviews as I usually do - life's been hectic (class registration is HELL, I tell you...) and I thought that you guys would probably appreciate an update more than a review response. I'm hoping so, at any rate. As always, thanks for everyone for reviewing, but I'd like to personally thank **aka Arashi** for reviewing _every single chapter_ of AoS in one day. My God, I opened my email and my inbox was like, exploding. It was spectacular. Amazing. Thank you!!!

_Ahem. _Anyway. Seems like people like my Armstrong, for some reason. -coughweirdoscough- Unfortunately, I'm afraid he's not going to figure very prominently in the next couple of chapters... if everything goes the way I think it will. We'll see.

What do you think about Ward? The name seemed to be the main source of surprise for you guys. But I do have a reason for it.

I suppose I _could_ do a character profile on him or something, if my characterization of him isn't up to par... Don't know how much it'll help, though... (shrug) I can't really give anything away, you know. Suffice to say that he's quite the oddball.

Yay for plot! It's moving! I'm sitting on my butt, but it's moving!

Some people threaten their readers into reviewing. I'd rather not do that. If you enjoy the story, press the little bluish button and write me a line. I like reading what you guys have to say. Oh, and the 200th reviewer gets a drabble in their honor (not to say that 200 is the limit, hint hint). It's fun, and a stupendous honor.

Ed: Bribing is illegal, you know.

RPS: Er... well, it's better than blackmail.

Ed: Still illegal.

RPS: Hey, you can't talk, mister bribe-military-officer-with-transmuted-gold.

Ed: I was being nice. And there's no record of it, anyway. You've no proof.

RPS: ...Shut up.

Ed: (smirks) I win. (goes off to celebrate)

RPS: (glares)

Ed: ...

RPS: ...Well, it's still better than blackmail...


	18. In Which Little Girls Are Persistent

_**Chapter 17: In Which Little Girls Are Persistent**_

_

* * *

_

* * *

_Author's note: _I'm alive! And kicking. Literally - a friend of mine has finally learned not to be a jerk, the hard way. Ah, violence. Ah, satisfaction. Ah, bruised shin that is not mine... 

No, I haven't been talking to Roy Mustang recently. Why do you ask?

...Right. Anyhoo, here's the next chapter, part one of a two-chapter scene. So, yes. Haven't abandoned this yet.

_

* * *

_

* * *

She stared up at him in mild astonishment, mouth open in a little 'o' as she leaned against the door. It had been much too long since she had last seen him, but his appearance had changed little; he was still tall, still with the hint of a smirk on his lips, and she could see that the hardships of challenges and loss had yet to completely fade from his handsome face. 

"Roy, what a pleasant surprise."

"Hello, Gracia," he replied.

She snapped out of her daze, beamed at him, and stepped aside in warm invitation."You have wonderful timing. I was just about to make dinner."

"Excellent." He brought up his hand, which happened to hold a bag full of groceries, and smiled. "I came prepared."

Her eyes lit up. "Well, come in, come in! It has been a while - Elicia missed you."

"Missed her too, the little monster." He stepped in, then paused, as if deliberating on something. "I have someone with me."

"Oh?" She paused on her way to the kitchen, then gave him a full-fledge smile. "Then Roy, silly man, tell them to come in."

His smile faded a little. "That what I thought you'd say." Gracia glanced at him, startled, as he craned his head out the doorway and called gruffly, "Get in already!" before disappearing in front of her to the kitchen.

"All right, all right," came an answering low grumble. "I'm the one carrying all this, you know."

After a few moments slight figure showed itself by the door, struggling with bags that looked to be significantly heavier than Mustang's. He stopped, looked around for a moment, then strenuously made his way to the table and heaved the groceries unto it. His head came up as he let out a breath, and as he looked around his gaze eventually came to land on her.

He jumped backwards, realized what she was, then scratched the back of his neck, at a loss for words.

"…Er."

She smiled. "Hi. I'm Gracia Hughes. You must be Roy's friend."

He seemed a little mystified by that assessment. "I'm Ward Enkelbert," he corrected. After a slight pause, he added, "Hello."

She appraised him for a bit, then said gently, "You must be tired. Go sit on the couch, and Roy and I will take care of dinner. It will take a while, so make yourself at home."

" Okay," he replied readily. Then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

_"Have you ever seen such a full moon?" _

_He shrugged. "I've never really looked," he said honestly. _

_The girl looked up at him. "Why not?" _

_He was abnormally still, and the wind didn't touch him as it ruffled her black hair. But she was used to that. "I never knew there was something to look at." _

_Frown. "Well, now you know. So you'd better look up sometimes." _

_"Fine." _

_"You're not looking!" _

_"I will. I am..." _

_Silence. Then,"…Just because you don't know something is there doesn't mean it doesn't exist." _

_They both stared at the moon in the horizon. For some reason he looked sad, but neither of them knew the reason. _

_"I know." _

_She stared back at the sky, shifting her position on the grass. _

_"I wish… I wish I had a lot of people that thought I was somebody." _

_"I don't count?" _

_"You do," she said hastily. "But…it's just…" she looked down into her lap. "I wish that there were more people that liked me. People that could…" the preteen flushed embarrassedly. _

_He looked away. He knew what she meant. _

_She glanced up in panic, worried that she'd offended him. "It's not that you're not enough!" she said forcefully. "And I don't mind it at all! I just…it's just…" she trailed off. _

_ Why did it feel like he should understand her better? And at the same time, like his time to do so was shortened…__"I know."_

_"I just want…" _

_"A home." _

_She furrowed her forehead as she echoed, "Home…?" _

_He smiled widely, hiding the sudden pang he felt at the word. Ending. That's what it was. _

_"Wishes don't come true on their own, you know." _

_Her eyes widened, and the secret, suspicious wetness that trailed down her cheeks stilled. "W-what?" _

_"If you want something, you have to get it yourself. I'll take you to a town I know. You'll be fine there." _

_"You mean it? But-" she cut off in realization, listening to what he hadn't said. "You'll come with me, right?" _

_"You know I can't." _

_"You'll _leave _me?" she blurted out, hurt. _

_You'll leave _me,_ he wanted to say. But he was too proud for that. "I'll visit once in a while." _

_"But you said-" _

_"I can't. You can't. This has gone on long enough as it is."_

_"But War-"_

_"Enough," he bit out tonelessly. Then, softening a little, he said to her, "Stop it. You're acting as if this is the last time we'll see each other."_

_One last weak try. "But-"_

_"I'll visit." He paused, then added, thoughtfully, "Even when you're old and gross."_

_"Even when I'm old I'll be better-looking than you, so shut up!" she snapped out automatically, then flinched as the words echoed in her head.  
_

_Ah, that temper. "Make me," he replied.  
_

_"Screw you," the girl sniffled. She sighed in helpless acceptance, gulping back her tears. "You won't… forget?" she asked fearfully. She remembered what he told her. _

_He closed his eyes. "I'll try not to." That would have to be enough. _

_She stared back at the moon. "I'll… miss you," she said, with difficulty. Neither of them was ever good with sentimentality. _

_He gave her another strange, rare smile, and she was struck again by how unfamiliar it looked on him, making him look sad and wise rather than at all happy. "You won't."_

_She bit her lip and rested her cheek against __a scabby knee. "Where's your home? Do you miss it?" _

_He was silent._

_She spoke his name hesitantly, wondering if she went too far.  
_

_"…Go clean up and pack." _

_As always, he stood there, watching her walk away. _

_Somewhere, someone was waiting for him. _

_He wished he knew why._

* * *

He dozed, the soft murmur of voices hailing from the kitchen a pleasant drone in the back of his mind. There were no dreams, but the lost echoes of voices and laughter drifted around him in a warm black emptiness. It didn't irritate him, however – rather, it comforted him, used to it as he was. 

Sleep was one of the better things he had been able to indulge in lately.

Mr. Ward was reluctant to wake up, but there was no helping it since his side _was_ getting jabbed at rather irritatingly. He opened his eyes to a narrow slit, and from behind long eyelashes watched as the little girl continued to poke him.

"That's not really necessary," he said idly, causing her to yelp and jump back a few paces in fright.

Her eyes were wide and large as she brought her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry!" she cried out. "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

He opened his eyes fully and peered down at her, intrigued. "Are you?"

She nodded fearfully.

Ward nodded back civilly, his eyes sliding shut once more.

Ah, quiet…

"Are you an alien?"

He peered at her inscrutably, and for some reason his glance made her shiver. "Are you?"

"No!"

"Okay." He shut his eyes again. " Never mind then."

She stepped closer, a bit braver.

"Why are you sleeping all the time?" she asked curiously.

He didn't open his eyes this time. "Sleeping's nice. Couch's comfortable."

"Oh."

Finally.

It was blessedly quiet for a while, and Ward could almost hear the vestiges of laughter swimming through his mind again-

"Are you Uncle Roy's friend?"

He gave up with a sigh. "I don't think so. No."

"_I'm_ his friend," she declared proudly. "He told me I was his favorite one."

"Does he have a lot to choose from?" he asked skeptically.

She giggled. "Of course he does, silly! He's Uncle Roy! He's a big important man!"

"Ohh…" he said slowly, and for some reason it made her giggle again. "I didn't know that."

She climbed onto the sofa and sat cross-legged next to him, watching him with great amused eyes. "You're funny. I'm Elysia."

He unsuccessfully covered a yawn. "That's nice."

"What's your name?" she tugged at his shirt, small white fist a striking contrast to the ragged gray cotton.

"Ward Enklebert," he provided obligingly.

Elysia scrunched her forehead. "That's a bad name. I like mine better."

The corner of his mouth twitched once. "I like your name better too."

Had she known how unusual and strange it was for the boy to smile, even as little as he did, Elysia might have stared. As it was, her eyes widened. It wasn't often that Elysia was complimented (her mom and Uncle Roy's praises didn't count, and were rare enough as it was), and coming from a stranger - especially one that had been such an uncooperative conversationalist thus far - it seemed a million times grander than anything she's ever heard.

A surprised bell-like laugh fell from her lips. "Really?"

"Yes."

She blushed.

Mrs. Hughes' head appeared from the entryway to the kitchen. "Elysia, what did I tell you about bothering guests?"

"I'm not bothering him!" she protested. Elysia turned to Ward and whispered in his ear, "Tell her I'm not bothering you."

"She's not bothering me, Mrs. Hughes," Ward said dutifully.

"If you're sure…"

"_Mom!_"

Mrs. Hughes smiled indulgently. She knew that her daughter had a very easily-piqued fascination with strangers, and had a tendency to cling that could exasperate the most patient of them.

If she thought someone was interesting, she wouldn't let them get away if she could help it.

…Rather like her father, in that sense…

"Don't let her get away with too much," she finally called, before vanishing into the kitchen again.

The clock struck eight, but was all but ignored by the two on the couch.

Ward cocked his head at the little girl in puzzlement. "What are you getting away with?"

"I dunno," Elysia shrugged.

"Huh." He looked back in the direction of the kitchen, wondering.

"Do you want to play?"

"I don't know how," he answered tonelessly.

She laughed. "Silly, I didn't even say the name of the game yet."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

The girl frowned, shrugged herself, then raised her arms beseechingly. "Pick me up, please," she asked. "I want to be picked up."

"I'm sitting."

She crawled into his lap and frowned at him endearingly. "So?"

"I'm sitting. And you're already on me," he pointed out.

"Then…" she thought for a bit, then continued earnestly, "Then get up and give me a piggyback ride."

Ward thought he was beginning to understand what her mother meant. "You're on me," he repeated.

The little girl hastily scrambled off of him. "What about now, Ward?"

He shut his eyes and sighed.

She out her hands at her hips, frowning mightily. "Hey! Are you listening?"

* * *

"He's polite," Gracia said as she pulled out a bowl from the cabinet. "Shy, but polite." 

Mustang opened the fridge and started taking out vegetables, giving her a brief, grumpy glance. "Have we been talking to the same person?"

His friend looked at him, wrinkling her forehead. "Does he act differently with you?"

He considered her question for a moment, then shook his head and made as if to wave it away.

"No, no… he just gets under my skin, that's all."

The woman smiled softly, knowing full well that only those who irritated the General could make him act like anything but the cold soldier he was, make him anything more than the military's growling dog. Being his best friend's wife had gained her a few insights into the man that was Roy Mustang. Although he'd changed more than a bit after her husband's death, the man still had a need for a problem he could not solve, still an almost desperate need for someone that would gall and goad him to be himself.

_If he even bothers to show that he's annoyed… I do hope Mr. Enkelbert will stick around for a while longer._

"It's been a while since someone did that to you," she almost whispered.

"Yeah," he replied, keeping his eyes on the vegetables.

---

She took the batter out of the bowl and started flattening it. "Is he a new officer? He's rather awkward at a family setting, I've noticed." 

"No, he's a civilian. Nothing to do with the military whatsoever."

Gracia stared at him strangely. "Then who is he?"

He turned up the corner of his mouth. "Ward Enkelbert, from what I've gathered."

" Roy-"

"I know as much as you do, Gracia. He's a complete stranger to me."

Her eyes widened. "Then – then why did you bring him here?"

He sighed. "Armstrong wants me to take him on as my secretary, probably so that I could keep an eye on him," he told her, for once exceptionally honest.

She should have appreciated that morsel of truth – even though she was one of his oldest friends, she'd rarely gotten such a candid glimpse into the workings of the military. Even Maes had tried his best to keep his work at the office.

But she couldn't help but question his reasoning. If they thought he bore watching, what was Mr. Ward doing in her _house_?

"So?"

His face closed off before putting on a unyielding smile, and she winced inwardly, knowing she'd blown it. "So the guy was hungry, and I remembered it's been a long time since the last time I'd visited."

"I just want to know, Roy…" she said evenly, keeping her gaze steadily away from him, "...is he dangerous?"

She didn't see her husband's best friend looked startled, as if he hadn't thought she would worry about such a matter with him around.

His dark eyes narrowed involuntarily as he considered her question.

"Not -" _not as dangerous as me,_ he meant to say fiercely, but was interrupted as what seemed like a whirlwind of energy entered the kitchen.

The whirlwind stopped right next to him, and dreary brown eyes stared at him with an inscrutable expression.

…

"You're cooking," Ward deadpanned flatly.

He lifted an amused eyebrow. The man seemed oddly put-upon. "How else did you expect the food to get done?"

"By someone else, for a start…" he muttered, craning forward to peer into the pot. "Rice, is it?"

Roy scowled indignantly. "I am perfectly capable in the kitchen, Mr. Ward. Probably more so than you, if I had to guess."

"It looks soggy…"

"Uncle Roy is a great cook!" a high voice piped up happily, seemingly out of nowhere. "He makes me cookies sometimes!!!"

Mustang looked around the kitchen questioningly, not seeing his favorite little menace anywhere. "Elysia…?"

A small hand waved at him from behind Ward's shoulder, and as he craned his head he could see a ruddy face beaming up at him. "Here, Uncle Roy!"

"…You let her ride you?" he smirked at Ward, understanding now.

The young man shifted his grip on the girl's legs. "This might be letting her get away with too much…" he said stonily.

The smirk widened unintentionally.

"Oh, I think it suits you. It certainly proves you can handle menial tasks…" Mustang said musingly.

"Is that a good thing?" he said uncertainly, as he watched Roy chuckle deviously to himself.

"I doubt it, dear," Gracia told him briskly before ordering sternly, "Elysia! Get down from there! Don't pick on Mr. Ward, now!"

"But Mom…" she whined.

Her mother shook her head. "That's not how a lady acts, honey."

"He doesn't mind!" she yelled shrilly. Elysia climbed up to Ward's shoulder so she could reach his ear. "You don't mind, right?" the girl whispered loudly.

Ward shrugged. "You're not too heavy."

"See, Mommy? See?" Elysia exclaimed.

"_Down_, young lady."

"Awww…" she muttered disappointedly to herself, easily sliding off his back.

"Now be a dear and set the table, Elysia. Dinner's almost ready."

"Yippee!" she bounded off, instantly cheerful again.

Ward stood there casually, looking awkward and useless. He seemed to be rather good at it, Roy noticed.

"What are you standing there for?" he raised an eyebrow. "Go help her."

Ward looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"Okay."

* * *

Dinner was a delicious affair around a square table, with soup, chicken, and various side dishes of Gracia's invention. Ward was impressed that the general had aided with this, as his most recent impression of him was of a rather violent man, with a fiery and unreasonable temper. Imagining him at a domestic setting was certainly quite odd. He had rather thought that the man would take his anger at Ward out on the chicken. 

But he looked all too comfortable at Mrs. Hughes' house, chatting pleasantly with their hostess while simultaneously indulging the little girl, continuously ruffling her hair and lightly shoving her off his lap (to no effect, as she again proved herself to be a quite persistent pest). The two talked about everything and nothing, it seemed, from the slight inflation of domestic products to the recent play by Darquier which Mustang had not yet heard of. Elysia chipped in once in a while with a curious question or obnoxious remark, but she was always humored and answered seriously and all in all, it seemed a rather quaint family dinner.

Ward observed this quietly, then promptly forgot about it and returned to focus on his plate.

...Food was more important than something he wasn't a part of, anyway._

* * *

_

A/N: Hmm... this chapter's looks kinda long, now that I think about it...

Hope you enjoyed the Hughes, because they're coming up again next chapter. Did I make Elysia annoying? Too evil? Too kiddish? I seriously didn't know what to do with her...

As for what Ward and Mustang are doing there in the first place, that'll come up next chapter. Which won't take a month. Seriously.

...Hopefully...


	19. In Which Roy Is Told To Get A New Hobby

_**Chapter 18: In Which Roy Is Told To Get A New Hobby  
**_

_

* * *

_

_He's very quiet, isn't he? _Gracia thought as she returned with dessert, gazing at her odd guest who was currently steadily attacking his fourth serving. Despite her subtle endeavors to include him in the conversation, Mr. Ward hadn't said a word all evening, aside from a muttered 'thanks' when someone passed him a plate or a uncommitted 'hrn' whenever Elysia told him something – which was often – and she began to wonder if she was being a bad host, or if her attempts at accommodating him were just entirely unwelcome.

Roy narrowed his eyes as he, too, noticed this, and proceeded to kick the man under the table.

Ward felt his leg throb, but as he looked up at the three they all were busy in conversation, not a hint of malice in sight.

_That was odd_, he frowned to himself, and stared at his leg suspiciously for a long moment before taking a stab at the dessert on his plate.

"The food is delicious, Gracia," Mustang sighed admirably, looking at the piece of pie in front of him.

"Yup yup, very good!" Elysia chimed in, waving her fork. " Yay Mommy!"

Even though she was used to compliments, Gracia blushed. "Stop it, you two -Elysia, please put down that fork - today was nothing special. And you helped considerably, Roy."

"Nonsense. It was mostly your efforts," he replied amiably, and promptly kicked Ward again.

This time he looked up in time to see Roy's glare.

Oh.

"This was the best dinner I've ever had," he said obediently.

Their host looked at him oddly, and Mustang resisted the urge to slap a hand to his forehead and groan. That was possibly the worst attempt at flattery he'd ever heard.

_The **idiot**… _

"I'm sure you've had better, Mr. Ward," she responded slowly, unsure of how to respond.

"Oh no, this is pretty much the best I've eaten so far," he deadpanned matter-of-factly, putting down his fork on his now-empty plate. "The rice wasn't much, but everything else was really great. The pie made me happy."

It took a moment to digest what he was saying, what with his odd way of doing so, but once she did her eyes lit with pleasure and a small laugh surprised its way out of her throat.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said, beaming, bowing her head graciously and cheerfully handing him some more pie, which got her another mumbled 'thank you very much, Mrs. Hughes'.

Roy's hand twitched – he thought he'd made the rice perfectly well, thank you very much – but inwardly he frowned. It was a good save, true, (he'd been about to strangle Ward, truth be told) but the way he said it was much too honest. Either he was an extremely good actor (or at least, knew how to get himself out of trouble), or he really had led a pretty sad life…

He scoffed at the thought.

Bah. Ward still got on his nerves.

* * *

"Are you married?" 

Roy choked on a piece of apple, and Elysia helpfully thumped his back as he regained himself. "_What?" _

"Are you married?" he repeated patiently.

He coughed out, "I – I heard what you said. I meant, why do you ask?"

Ward blinked. "Because I wanted to."

He heard a smothered laugh to his right, and he scowled at Gracia before turning his glare back to Ward. "And why should my marital status concern you, pray tell?" he said stiffly, trying to gather himself.

"I was wondering if that's why you're so violent."

Roy stared cluelessly.

"Maybe if you were married, you could find another hobby instead of kicking people," he suggested. "Like giving Elysia piggy-back rides. Or making apple pie."

Elysia giggled. Roy began to fume.

"That's all right, Ward," Gracia laughed delicately. "Marriage isn't for everyone, and it rarely changes a person so completely."

He cocked his head. "You changed, though. Didn't you?"

Roy whitened, and she started, eyes widening -

"Mommy," a sweet voice cut in, "can I have some more pie, please?"

Gracia smiled softly, a faraway glitter in her eyes.

"Of course, darling."

* * *

"So where are you staying?" Gracia asked conversationally, carving out another piece for Elysia as she did so, much to the delight of the little girl. Mustang froze, then looked on silently, leaning back nonchalantly to keep Ward in his field of vision. " Roy's mentioned that you're a newcomer to Central." 

Ward paused, glass of orange juice halfway to his lips. "I haven't thought about it yet," he admitted thoughtfully, sipping a little before putting down the cup. "But there were a couple of stairs to a large white building some blocks away from here. It had nice shade."

Gracia's eyes widened almost comically as she let out a horrified gasp, but Mustang said calmly, "Are you referring to the Central library? I doubt the guards would take it well if you were to sleep there."

"Ah, well…" he looked only a little disappointed. "It looked comfortable."

"I'm sure it would be," the general replied, raising an eyebrow. "…_Inside_."

"But they would like that even less, wouldn't they?" Ward pointed out logically. He tipped his head slightly to the side and rested it on the palm of his hand, supported by a slim elbow. "There was a bench next to it. Would they mind if I used that?"

Roy considered thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose it -"

"_Enough!!_" Gracia interrupted, slapping her hands on the table in a rare display of maternal ferocity, startling Ward. " Roy, stop acting as if this isn't utterly ridiculous," she snapped. "And Mr. Ward, under no circumstances are you to sleep outside! It is completely unnecessarily – we have inns for that sort of thing, not to mention it's still cold out! There is no reason for you to even _consider_ such a ludicrous prospect!"

Ward blinked at her slowly, not understanding why she sounded so angry. "But I have no money to pay with."

"You have…."_a job_, she meant to say, but Roy's eyes stopped her, and she said instead, "people to stay with, surely."

He cocked his head in puzzlement. "Who?"

"Ah…" She faltered and, for some inexplicable reason, looked at Elysia.

The little girl lit up, as if that single glance had given her permission to speak her mind. She _had _been rather quiet, much too long for a girl of her age. " Oooh, Mommy, can Little Brother stay with us?"

Gracia and Roy stared at her. Her mother finally laughed hesitantly, "Honey, I'm not sure _Mr. Enkelbert_ would like to…"

"Why? He likes me, doesn't he?" Receiving only silence as an answer, she turned to Ward and gently tugged on his shirt, asking uncertainly, "You do, don't you, Little Brother?"

Gracia watched uncertainly, biting her lip.

"Little Brother?" Elysia repeated softly, more timidly, with still another tug.

Ward almost sighed.

"You're very noisy," he pointed out. "And I'm bigger than you. By a lot."

She ducked her head, tears already starting to form, when she felt a gentle hand reach out and pat her head gingerly.

"…But you're not too heavy."

Elysia looked up into the kind, muted eyes and grinned.

* * *

"I think that means we can keep him, Mommy!" she cried delightedly, turning to her mother. 

A smile hovered over Gracia's lips as she told Ward, "If you don't mind, then, I do have an extra room you could use."

A troubled frown made it to Ward's face. "But I don't have any money to pay you, either."

"Oh, there's no-"

"Actually," Roy spoke up, "as my secretary you can have a decent percentage of your salary allocated to Mrs. Hughes. We can discuss business later, but suffice to say you will not be freeloading."

Ward glanced at him, startled.

"I'm your secretary…?" he asked in surprise. He'd thought that whole business was over and done with, with the final conclusion that he was unfit for the position. Although there _was _that little interrogation Mustang had subjected him to. As well as that whole strangling business.

But that had _felt _a lot more life-threatening than inviting...

"Do you want to be?" Roy asked in return, surprisingly gentle. "You have somewhere to return to."

_Somewhere to return to. _Fancy that.

"...Well, all right," Ward said finally. "Yes."

_He sounds as if he's doing me a favor…_ the general thought dryly.

He offered his hand, and after a few moments of the awkward Ward staring as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do with it, Roy finally grabbed his hand and shook it forcefully. There.

He looked the thin man in the eye seriously. "This is a rare opportunity." _I'm trusting you with something valuable. Not many can say that. _"You better not mess up." _If I find out I was wrong about you…_

Ward's eyes flickered to the small family watching them, and for the first time, the other man seemed to fully understand what Roy was saying.

"I won't."

* * *

"Here you go," she said kindly. "Please make yourself at home." 

" Okay." He paused, then said awkwardly, "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

The woman smiled at him, and shut the door.

* * *

She went down the stairs, past the kitchen and back to the living room, where Roy was reclining familiarly on the sofa. 

Seeing her, he propped himself up on an elbow. "Elysia's asleep?"

The woman nodded, settling down in an armchair. "And Mr. Ward looked tired as well."

"Wouldn't surprise me," he said thoughtfully. "It's hard to read him, but he was a little overwhelmed today, I think."

"He seemed perfectly amiable," she argued. "Very easygoing."

"…Maybe too much," he mused. "Weird fellow. But I suppose he's decent."

"It will be interesting having him in the office, I imagine."

He snorted. "Everyone seemed to be taking to Mr. Ward rather too well. I doubt there will be many problems."

"Still, a change after all these years…" she smiled. "It's bound to be a bit difficult in the beginning."

Mustang smirked lazily. "I wonder how long he'll last," he said predatorily.

She shook her head at him, but let it go. "Did Riza approve of him? I was surprised when you showed up without her."

His forehead wrinkled. "Actually, she hasn't seen him yet. I didn't see her today - I left her a message that I was coming here, but…"

She looked at him peaceably. "She must be busy, what with her new promotion."

A growl told her what her friend thought of _that. _"Damn woman…" he muttered, irritated, fingers clenching and unclenching.

Gracia smiled at him. She gave the man a minute or two of respite and reflection – most of which he spent complaining under his breath about insubordinate female subordinates - then chose to speak up before he went to sleep right there on the couch, deciding that she had long earned the right for some answers.

" Roy-" she began.

"I didn't know," he said suddenly, honestly. "When I came here, I didn't know whether to take him on or not."

She scrunched up her face in a manner rather like Elysia, looking rather peeved.

He watched her amusedly. "That _was_ what you wanted to ask, wasn't it?"

Gracia sighed in frustration. Roy Mustang was too wily for her, is what he was, but she wasn't about to let him get away with it so easily. "Why did you bring him here, then?"

He gazed off into the distance, which seemed to be somewhere above the fireplace mantle and to the side of the family photos. "I wanted to see if he was trustworthy. If he'd done something to make me suspicious, or you two didn't like him, I would have refused him and sent him off."

Her eyes widened, and she chuckled as she shook her head. She had yet to meet someone more cunning and manipulative than her husband's old friend. _The gall of this man…_

"So all along, you _meant_ for him to..."

"Stay with you?" he finished for her. He considered briefly how to answer her. "If it came down to it, yes. He can't reside in military quarters, after all."

"So this dinner was… a test?"

He smirked at her.

"..._And_ we were hungry."

_

* * *

_

* * *

"...About _time_." 

He whirled about.

"You! What are you doing here??"

Lazy smirk. "Checking to see if you've done your part, of course."

Glower. "I don't need a damn -"

The dark figure leaned back as it shook its finger back and forth, smirk so wide it seemed far from human, and so much more terrifying.

"Ah, ah, ah, let's not use naughty language, Doctor. Do we need a reminder of who's the servant here?"

Teeth grinded. "...No."

Legs were crossed in satisfaction. "Very good. Now, tell me how it went. That's one _nasty_ bruise you have there." Mocking shudder.

One hand went up to palm a lined face, carefully fingering the blemish. "She put up a bit of a fight."

"But you _did _get her, didn't you? I did think I could count on you for one tiny kidnapping. Especially as you were so… eager… to prove yourself."

"We knocked her out quickly enough. She's here."

"Good," it purred, and scanned the back of its hand idly. "I _wouldn't_ have appreciated having to do it myself."

The man couldn't conceal a shiver.

"Well." Suddenly the voice turned bored. "It's all in your hands now. As per the deal, we will not interfere. Even if you fail."

"I will succeed. I promise you that."

Light chuckle. "We'll see if you're a man of your word, Doc."

He held his tongue and counted to ten.

…

"…Anything else?" he said warily, as the other still did not leave.

It grinned appreciatively.

"We've given you what you needed - facilities, weapons, men… All we ask is that you make that smug bastard sweat a little."

"Sweat," he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

'Sweat'. That was so...

_Mild_.

Its grin turned vicious.

"Drown the little flame out – and see if he survives."

_

* * *

_

A/N: Hehe... guess it took me a while after all. But I've got a great excuse, what with being out of the country and all. So there.

Anyway, this chappy's the last one of the dinner at the Hughes', thank _God_. That's the end of that, and I'm sure you guys are grateful too. The last bit was mildly thought-provoking, wasn't it? Wonder what they're up to...

I haven't had a chance to write the next chapter yet, so that'll take a while. It will be a lot more interesting than this chapter, though. I think. Is my plan.

As always, thanks for my loyal reviewers - I'll even mention a few, the ones who were me for a good long while. That includes CrystalMind, Miss Woodford, Jombra, JChrys, Legendary Chimera, Sera and Tails, smilingcheerios, and feefee223. If your name's not on here, much apologies, but you know what to do to get there.. :)


	20. In Which There Is A Pink Shirt

_**Chapter 19: In Which There Is A Shirt (dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn)  
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* * *

_

_He'd learned over time to stay away from villages and other places of human habitation. That didn't stop him from running when he noticed the massive plume of smoke in the distance, however. _

_Despite the fact he knew he'd come to regret it._

_And he was right, of course. The laughter of bandits had already faded into the distance when he finally saw it: houses, not a single one left untouched; fires that had only just begun to quiet; bodies of men, women and children, beaten, violated, tossed aside carelessly like rags. _

_It didn't matter, he told himself. No matter what, he'd always be late. It never mattered. _

_But the words rang hollow._

_"H-help me," a hoarse voice stammered weakly, distracting him from his musings. "Please…"_

_He stopped and turned around abruptly, just in time to see an old human stumble to his knees and then unto his stomach, weak red flames still dancing stubbornly on his sleeves, leaving black scorch marks behind. He crouched next to the old man's frame, eyes assessing the damage, the likelihood, the possibilities. _

_Dire, but perhaps not fatally so. If he could take care of him, the old one might very well survive. _

_He met the wrinkled man's eyes. They were brown._

_"I can't help you."_

_"Please," the old man repeated again, lined face white under the ash and blood covering it. "D-don't let me… Save me, _please!_" _

_He didn't move. Perhaps taking this as encouragement, the ancient raised his head, a thin, wrinkly hand moving to clutch at his feet, but it was hardly an inch into the air when it flinched back, body beginning to twitch in its final painful throes. _

_He stayed there for a moment, torn between staying for the old man's dying moments and searching for more survivors. _

_In the end he elected the latter – it wasn't like the man was seeing anything through those glassy eyes anymore._

**_

* * *

_**

_

* * *

_

Waking up to find yourself cold and wet for no apparent reason is a disconcerting experience. 

After a moment in which he blindly groped around for a dry spot on the bed in a quite valiant effort to return to the mindlessness of sleep, Ward sat up and blurrily scanned his surroundings, eyes nearly shut as he wearily searched the room for an explanation.

Wall. Wall. Chair. Wall. Open door. Wall. Bucket. Closet. Wall. Something blue. Wall-

…

Wait a second…

"Woken up, have you, Mr. Ward?" a cruelly cheerful voice remarked, once it was apparent that he was sufficiently aware of his circumstances. "Excellent timing. Your enthusiasm for your position must be commended."

Ward blinked up at what looked to be Major General Roy Mustang in full military uniform, uncomfortably aware how water (he hoped that's what it was) was trickling from his chin and down under his shirt.

"Good morning," he said finally.

Mustang faltered slightly, as if put off-balance, but regained his bearings so quickly that it was practically unnoticeable. "Get dressed. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Ward raised his right arm and shook it in the air a bit, face blank as tiny droplets hit his face. After a moment, he asked, "In what?"

Mustang raised an eyebrow.

Ward elaborated, "I don't have a uniform."

"Are you a soldier?" Ward slowly and uncertainly shook his head, and he smirked. "Then what do you need a military uniform for?"

"Oh."

* * *

His hostess gave an assessing glance as he finally stepped out of the room. 

"It's still too big on you," she frowned calculatingly. "We'll have to hem it, but if you have nothing else to wear, it'll do for now."

Roy sniggered in the background. Ward ignored him and thanked her politely. When all was said and done, Mrs. Hughes' great generosity confused him, really, but he was glad there were people like her in the world.

* * *

He was still chuckling about it as they climbed the stairs to headquarters. "All of Maes's clothes, and she had to give you the pink one." 

Ward didn't appear all that embarrassed, but he did look a little annoyed by Mustang's teasing as he shrugged. "It's a shirt."

He rolled his eyes. Truthfully, it didn't look half bad on the guy. Armstrong and his damned 'only real men wear pink' could go to Xing and stay there, but the pink shirt didn't look all that effeminate on Ward, despite the fact that his shoulders could stand to be a bit wider and his hair was the goddamned length of a Drachman girl's.

When Gracia had simply and adamantly refused to let his new secretary go dripping out into the cold Central air, he had been a bit irritated – he was used to doing what he wanted, but it was a mistake to forget to take her character into account. He supposed it was rather cruel of him to make Ward walk outside like that in this weather, but when she brought him Hughes' old shirt for him to wear, a part of him had been rather angry at the betrayal.

In the end, though, it didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it would. Probably because Hughes had filled it out differently, and on his new secretary it looked slightly ridiculous.

As well as amusing.

"There you are!" an angry shout greeted them. "With all due respect, sir, of all days to disappear you had to pick this one?! We looked everywhere for you!"

Roy had half a mind to demonstrate just why he was called the Flame rather than Rolling Over For Idiots To Shout At Alchemist, but something in Havoc's voice stopped him.

"What happened?" he asked sharply, quickening his steps.

"Riza, sir," Havoc replied around his cigarette, walking slightly in front of the general as they hurried inside. Ward's shirt only garnered a brief amused glance, and after curtly ordering a passing soldier to relay Mustang's appearance to the others, he continued, "Some bastard took her last night."

He didn't even flinch or pause, and no one would ever know how his heart skipped a beat. Only a sudden tremor in his hands, and that was quickly stilled as they swung tensely when he strode forward, passing Havoc with a burst of adrenaline running through his veins.

It was a rather incredible feat, but somehow they'd managed to walk the rest of the way in utter silence – not that Ward Enkelbert had any problem doing so, of course, as he had little to absolutely no idea what was happening. It was only a slight apprehension of catching Mustang's furious attention – the man's expression was somewhere between angry, blank, and constipated – that kept him following behind and held him back from going off somewhere on his own. Being strangled was not an experience he cared to repeat.

When they entered the office, it was empty of the usual staff. "They'll be back when they find something," Havoc explained quietly, and the general only nodded as he swept past the desks and into his room, where he proceeded right to his chair.

He needed to do something - he yearned to pace, and he really wanted to set something on fire. But years and experience had taught him that if he couldn't at the very least maintain appearances and decorum during crises, all his efforts to become Furher were pointless.

So instead he closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms (to stop them from fidgeting), and asked simply, "What do you know?"

Havoc exhaled slowly. "So far, not much. The name we were given was Elim Packard, and all he said was that it's something to do with you. Falman's looking him up right now."

Mustang's eyes snapped open. "He contacted you?"

Havoc nodded. "On the phone."

He clenched his fists. "You had him on the phone, and you didn't stall him? You couldn't make him wait until I came?" he gritted out incredulously.

The first lieutenant took out the cancer stick from his mouth and held it in between two fingers, looking mildly irritated. "What did you want me to say? 'Sorry, our eminent leader is away, please hold'?"

Mustang rubbed his face and sighed. Of all times for the Furher to be in the East, too. "Did you at least trace the call?"

"Some phone booth in northern Central."

Mustang tapped his fingers on his arm. "And?"

"We have guys on the way there right now."

"Good." He paused, replaying the information in his brain. "...Something to do with me, he said?"

Nod. "No details, but I'm guessing the fellow holds some kind of grudge. You wouldn't happen to know who he is, would you?"

Roy frowned. "Packard? Never heard of him in my life."

The door burst open and three familiar faces came in, looking a tad ragged and solemn, but every bit the perfect soldiers. They saluted, then got right down to business. "Sir," Fury said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "we got a lead."

"Tell me," he said only.

Falman tossed a folder unto Mustang's desk. "Doctor Elim Packard. Used to be a military man posted in Ishbal before the war. Seems he was close to the natives – married one of them, at any rate, and apparently got her pregnant. According to Furher Bradley's accounts, he'd attempted several times to talk to the Furher, but was turned away by his secretary each time. Once several men had to 'assist' him in leaving. Eventually, during the purge, both his wife and child were killed, and he was sent to an insane asylum for being unstable and a danger to himself and others."

"_Was_ he unstable?"

Breda shrugged. "Your guess is as good as ours, sir. The way things were then… well, you know. What's certain is that he got out several years later and disappeared from the records."

Mustang stood and slapped his hands on the desk. "That's not good enough. Sergeant Fury, Lieutenant Breda, I want those years accounted for. What did he do, who did he meet, where he stayed, anything that you can tell me, as soon as possible."

"Yes sir!" they saluted.

"Warrant Officer Falman, I want you to find everything about Packard from when he was locked away. Analyze the notes, filter through all the bullshit and tell me what the _hell _this guy's thinking-"

The door opened again, and an unfamiliar soldier stepped through urgently. "General Mustang! There was an explosion in CGH!"

"The civilian hospital?" Havoc let out, startled.

"How many injured?" Mustang asked tersely.

"Still trying to figure that out, sir! We are evacuating the building and are awaiting your orders, sir!"

The general nodded in acceptance. "Stick to the usual procedures. Get me a tally of the number of civilians in the building, make sure everyone's accounted for, dead or alive. Relocate the survivors to nearby hospitals, and when you're done ."

The man nodded, saluted and exited, not closing the door behind him.

They looked at each other.

"…You think that was Packard?" Breda asked slowly.

Mustang opened his mouth to answer, but then -

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrinnnnnnng. _

* * *

A/N: Gasp! Can it be? It's an update!! 

I hope you guys aren't too disappointed with it. Considering I typed most of this up last night, this isn't very polished or up to standard. But I figured since I've kept you waiting patiently (and not so patiently xP) for so long, I might as well put it up. So... is anyone still reading this?

Oh, and to give credit where it's due: there would have been no explosions if it hadn't been for Sera and Tail's rather enthusiastic review, which stuck in my mind for some reason. You wanted explosions, you got explosions. Oh yeah. Boom!


	21. In Which Phone Calls Are Answered

_Chapter 20: Lessons  
_

* * *

A/N: ...I'm sorry for taking so long? 

Erm, this is kind of filler material, but it's more or less necessary. And since I had it all done, I figured I shouldn't withhold it from you guys. Tell me what you think.

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_

_When he'd first seen her, she had looked impossibly small. She told him later that she had been ten; she could have passed for eight._

_Her hair was dark and curly, and then it had wetly straggled down her face in long, thin braids – later they would come undone, and she'd never put her hair up if she could help it. He would never think to ask her why._

_Her skin was smeared with soot and grime; cheeks were flushed with the heat and wet from stubborn, unwanted tears, and the small hands were scratched and bright pink from the fire. Odd sorts of shadows from the flames danced in the hollows of her face, around her eyes, below her nose…_

_...Aside from having her leg pinned by fallen beam, she was actually pretty well off._

_It was unfortunate. But he'd learned his lesson time and time again – seeing the old man this time only reinforced the message. There was nothing he could do. _

_"Wh-where are you going?" _

_After a moment of something - not quite hesitation - he turned and looked at her. _

_Eyes the color of ebony stared back, and for a moment the small, weak part of him wondered what they saw. No doubt he looked strange. "Y-you…" she cleared her throat, then started again, a incredulously _hurt _note in her voice, "Why aren't you helping me? What are you waiting for?"_

_He stepped forward, intrigued. _

_The girl seemed disconcerted, and she warily squirmed backwards, as if suddenly regretting alerting him to her presence. Nonetheless she continued boldly,"Why are you just standing there?"_

_Perhaps, he thought. He glanced at her leg, bruised purple under the wood. "Does it hurt?"_

_She glared at him like he'd gone crazy. "What do you _think_?"_

_Good, he mused, though he wisely did not say it aloud. "Will you die?" he inquired absently._

_...Such a fearsome scowl for one so young. "Not now!" she snapped at him, and only the pallor and sheen of sweat on her olive skin told him that she must be quite frightened._

_That was bravery, wasn't it? _

_He thought so.  
_

_He looked around. The afternoon was fading into evening, white clouds turning pink and purple, gray smoke turning black. The fires were simmering down, now, faraway screams fading into mere echoes. All around were fragments of wood and clay and strewn about possessions that no one will ever care about again._

_But perhaps they could have a final use._

_"Reach for that cane over there," he told her, standing off a little to the side. "Try to anchor it next to your foot."_

_Her sharp eyes locked on the cane he was pointing at, and her hands instantly made to grab it. When she missed – by only a painful couple of inches, too – she stared at him, panicked, fear and wetness welling up in her eyes and immediately evaporating. "It's too far away! Can't you give it to me?"_

_"Take it. It's not that far."_

_"I can't!" she cried, tears of sweat running down her cheeks and neck._

_His gaze pierced her like a knife, bringing her shaking to a sudden, quivering halt. _

_"Do it," he said shortly. "Or I leave."_

_He wouldn't, of course. Even had there been nothing he could do, he couldn't just leave a little girl to die by herself. Something in him – he wasn't yet sure what – prevented him from doing so. It was different from the old man; he had been dying quickly, desperately, losing senses and consciousness for his final breaths. _

_This girl would take _much _longer to die.  
_

_He had no particular reason to go, but every reason to not stay. Her death would doubtlessly scar him, drain him of what little will and vitality he had - he knew he'd inevitably return to the oblivion of old, and who knew when, or even if, he'd finally return._

_...Yet even so, he could not leave her._

* * *

The phone rang again. 

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrinnnnnnng. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrinnnnnnng. _

Havoc met his eyes, and he could tell they were both thinking the same thing:

_Villain wants to gloat. _

His head nodding almost imperceptibly – though in answer to what, even he didn't know - he picked it up, hand steady against the plastic earpiece, and listened.

With no hesitation, without even an introduction, the smooth voice slid into his ear.

"I imagine you realize it was I behind the explosion."

Roy's eyes flicked over to the men watching him from across his desk, then stared blankly at the wall as he focused all his attention on the phone. "Where is Major Hawkeye?" he asked immediately.

"Somewhere out of your reach," the voice snapped harshly, then abruptly mellowed again into something much more calm and deranged. "My dear General Mustang, don't worry for the Major. We've treated her well. She's at least somewhat comfortable."

Roy swallowed a snort. Packard seemed to have practiced being the traditional villain in the years he was away - cruel innuendo and all.

He could only hope that would lead him to make a mistake.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly instead, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Come meet me, and we'll discuss just that."

As if in idle habit, Mustang spun his chair around, ending the dizzying trip in a direction which just so happened to face away from his men. "Fine. Where?"

"Not so fast, General. I want you alone – no sniper on the rooftops, no soldier behind you. In exchange, I'll kindly guarantee the Major's safety."

"You realize my men won't agree to this," he remarked quietly. "_I'm_ not some nameless soldier, Packard."

Roy could almost hear Packard gritting his teeth. _Point one for me_, he thought triumphantly, ignoring the timid little voice in his head that mentioned that perhaps piquing a terrorist's anger was not precisely the wisest thing one could do.

"I've heard much of your exploits, Mustang. Certainly you could come up with some sort of plausible excuse. You've done it so often in the past, after all."

"Perhaps," he replied tightly - the pretentious bastard was getting on his nerves. "But you forget that back then I wasn't a Lieutenant General, and my actions had considerably less import. My soldiers would not leave even if I ordered them to, and my every movement is followed. I suppose you hadn't gotten the chance to find out, _Doctor_, but the more elevated and important your rank, the more you are watched and protected."

Most of it was utter bullshit - if anyone was watching his house or following him around, he very much doubted it was for protection - but he was counting on Packard being naive and ignorant enough to swallow it whole.

There was a hesitation on the other line, as if the other was attempting to regain his bearings (does he really get unhinged so easily? Roy wondered), and then the voice returned, sounding less oily and a bit surprised. "...A bit inconvenient, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed pleasantly. "But I'm willing to make whatever sacrifices I need to get me to the top."

Behind him, he heard his men groan - "he's at it again" he thought he heard Breda mutter - but he ignored them for the voice in his ear, which suddenly seemed to remember its villainous role.

"I'm sure you'd succeed if you tried, General. You _are _fairly intelligent, if what rumors say is true."

"I'm flattered that you think so," replied Roy smoothly. "Yet that doesn't change the facts."

Another pause. "Then leave your men where mine can watch them. But I warn you – any funny business and she'll be deader than a corpse."

Score. "I understand," he answered lightly, then pressed ahead while there was still an opening left. "I also require to be no less than twenty feet from my first lieutenant or any one of my soldiers. If anything should happen, I want there to be absolutely no question about it."

Dark chuckle. Roy was tempted to ask whether he'd been practicing. "I believe you are mistaking who is in control of this relationship, General. I'm not one of your men."

"Is that a no?" he queried lightly.

"Indeed it is."

He shrugged to himself. He really hadn't expected anything less, but it had been worth a try.

"Oh, cheer up, General Mustang." The voice sounded smug now, certain it had the upper hand. "One man will not change your fate, nor Major Hawkeye's."

"Good thing I don't believe in fate then," Roy replied.

"By the end of our acquaintance," the voice said, "I intend to change that."

* * *


	22. In Which Money Makes The World Go Round

_Chapter 21: In Which Money Makes The World Go Round, Except When It Doesn't_

* * *

A/N: ...I've a feeling you guys are getting tired of my apologies... sorry, I have a pretty intense schedule this semester. Hooray for having midterms every week...T.T 

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East City was a city where one could easily go unnoticed. The streets bustled and flowed with a surge of people every insipid morning, each with his or her own ambiguous agenda and nondescript background, each with their own mission to complete before time ran out and the streetlights turned on, more like warning signals than wards to stave off the darkness. Yells, whispers and screams all had their place here, and unless one of them pertained solely to you they went unnoticed like music in a fast-food Amestrian restaurant.

Right now, the man without a coat was counting on that.

He hitched the collar of his sweater over his ears, huddling against the cold and making a mental note to purchase a decent jacket somewhere cheap, the smoke of regret wafting around him like a scarf. His worn shoes were not suited for this either, but he could live without a pair of boots. Something to shield his body and face from the wind, and unwanted attention….

…That, he could use.

Only a bit of scented smoke drifted to his nose, but it was enough to shift his direction towards the inn from which the delicious smell emitted. He felt like a stranger, a ghost, sliding between travelers and workers and thieves without receiving recognition from any one of them. No one paid attention, not a soul looked upon and scrutinized the hard, agonized lines on his face, etched by force before their time.

It was as if he didn't exist.

…Bastards.

Standing before the door – not remembering how or when he'd gotten there - he stood there (face looking up to the gray sky, eyes opened in a blank black stare, inviting rain to wash out the red in them) and wondered if it was even worth it anymore.

And if it wasn't, what then…?

A passing man in a baker's apron gave him a quizzical quirk of the brow, and he took a step back, fear grabbing his heart in a chokehold. Was he that obvious? He'd never been a brave man, just a smart one, and even that hadn't been enough – he should have seen, should have known… _you idiot, what were you_ thinking -

The man only shook his head and went on his way.

Thank goodness.

Everywhere, everywhere. How could they… he did it, what they wanted, he did it and they'd already had _everything_ -

Desperation led his step, he almost leapt the last foot through the doorway into the warm, dim room, where his energy suddenly left him and he slumped, boneless, in the back corner of the room, where with a scrambled and graceless show of coin he managed to procure the piercing gaze of the matronly woman behind the bar who nodded at him and turned to yell at some poor soul beyond his sight.

Almost childishly assured of promised service, glumly thinking that he didn't care when it came, so long as it did, he bowed his head and stared at the tabletop, ignoring everything but the empty ruckus in his head.

What now, what now…

He couldn't hide forever. He knew that much. They were everywhere, could be anyone, the lying -

Damn them.

Damn them and their games, damn _him _for knowing, living, when –

…Bastards, all of them. They'd promised him, they'd _promised -_

He wanted to die. Right here, right now, he'd welcome an end with open arms – _even if I don't get to see them again (does heaven exist? I don't think I care) – _but he couldn't. His self-preservation instinct was too strong, even still. He was too much of a coward (it'd _hurt_) and they'd only win the game.

…And damn him if he'd play by their rules anymore.

A muffled laugh from in front of him – thank God, it was far away enough, and sounded like sandpaper (not like bells, a delighted giggle issuing from behind him, smooth slippery voice of the devil, knife on her neck and something forcefully shoved into his hands) – in the lit corners of the room, and in answer a shaky tremor gripped him, stifled fiercely into the palm of his hand.

Do it, they had said. Do it, and they will return to you. Just this one little thing, and we will be out of your life. You won't hear from us anymore.

'They'll be safe.''They'll be freed.'

_Lucy, Ben, Marie… _

The laughter rose again, and he wasn't certain whether this time it was real or just in his head. He couldn't even be all too sure it wasn't his own.

_They'll be freed._

The man snorted. It sounded like a sob.

Yeah, freed. Sure.

…Freed into the morgue.

* * *

"The world does not cater to man's whims," he whispered mechanically under his breath. 

The words were a familiar and well-worn mantra on his tongue. Back at the asylum they had been etched into his very soul with force and needles and blood, and as he waited for the General the phrase promptly entered his mind again.

'The world does not cater to man's whims'. The world does not do what one wants it to, regardless of what one might want.

Sometimes, it gives you a hand; all too often, it doesn't. Sometimes, it shows you the way – and frequently, it sweeps you off your feet and laughs in mirth as you fall down the stairs, bruised and broken and back at the very start.

When Elim Packard looked at Roy Mustang, he couldn't help but be reminded of that mediocre, blasé explanation for his family's deaths.

Mustang walked in long, steady strides to the remote intersection of K and 7th in the old part of Central where they'd agreed to meet, appearance groomed and hair well-kempt as always, not a single damned strand or thread out of place. That didn't bother Elim – he'd give the fucker what's coming to him in due time – but even as Mustang's armed chaperones waited several hundred feet away, next to Mustang strolled a shorter, skinnier fellow who, while looking too fragile to hurt anyone but himself, was a _direct_ violation of his terms.

He gritted his teeth. 'The world does not cater to man's whims' – just replace 'the world' with 'Mustang', and you'd get a perfect description of that bastard's arrogant mug.

With three of his mercenaries at his back - each one could rightly be mistaken for a giant, but he'd brought them more to make a point than for protection - Packard strode forward to meet the despicable man, arms on his hair shivering with hatred as he did so. He would not let anything show on his face, however; he'd studied Mustang's character well enough to know that any such weakness would be instantly manipulated and taken advantage of.

And damn if he'll let the son of a gun win _his _game.

"I see that despite everything you refuse to abide by our agreement, General," he said as a greeting. He raised the walkie-talkie in his hand to his face. "Should I tell my men to kill the bitch?"

"I did no such thing," Mustang answered calmly, only a passing flash in his eye betraying that the words indeed sunk in. "I followed your instructions to the letter. You said to come face you without a sniper or a soldier, and I did exactly that."

"Oh, is that right?"

Packard had to give it to him, the man could handle himself under pressure. "Quite so. Let me introduce to you my secretary, Mr. Ward Enkelbert."

He wasn't sure if this rebellious action merited a glare, but just in case Packard decided not to visibly show any frustration, whether with himself or Mustang. That would only undermine him and his goal, and besides - a large part of him was really rather enjoying the fact that Mustang found him dangerous enough to try to one-up him by seeking to utilize a useless loophole.

He settled on clapping, once, twice, in mock appreciation. "An 'A' for effort, General. Am I to believe he is not trained as a soldier? I suppose your plan was to have this useless-looking brat take me down, was it?" He smiled - a lazy, vicious thing. "I meant to tell you before you got any ideas that if anything happened to me, my men have …certain instructions, shall we say, concerning Hawkeye – but seems I was too late. And here I thought we could talk like reasonable adults.

"Oh well," he said in a whisper, grinning fully. He was enjoying this. "…Too bad."

Let Mustang see who he's dealing with.

He raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth, completely intent on carrying out his threat. Before he could, however, his opponent suddenly violently smacked the back of his so-called secretary, causing him stumble forward a couple of paces and almost fall flat on his face before finally regaining his balance. Surprised, he took the comm. away from his face and stared at both of them quizzically.

"That was pathetic, even for you" Mustang told his man.

"I'm not used to it yet," the latter replied by way of explanation, shrugging his skinny shoulders as he straightened. "And screw what you think, anyway," he muttered under his breath, almost as a surprised afterthought.

Apparently not hearing (or else ignoring) this violation of conduct, Mustang turned to Packard. "I trust it hasn't been so long that you've forgotten how we train our soldiers? He's nothing but a civilian." His mouth didn't move, but somehow his countenance still expressed complete and utter contempt. "Wholly useless in terms of fighting - and barely useful with anything else, come to think of it. His record is in the system. I'm surprised you haven't done your research. New to this sort of thing, are you?"

Elim narrowed his eyes this time, frowning as he stared down the secretary's flat and colorless eyes. They were disinterested, bleary, and somehow incredibly familiar – though he knew for a fact that he'd never seen the man before.

He broke the eye contact and turned to the other man. "Don't think me naïve, Mustang. You wouldn't have brought him – risking your Major's life in the process, might I add – unless you had a reason. Either that, or you're a great deal more foolhardy than I gave you credit for."

Roy Mustang raised an eyebrow. "And when did I say I had no reason?" he asked, face expressionless yet somehow amused as well. "Ward, please show him what's in the suitcase."

Enkelbert stepped forward, and for the first time Elim noticed that the man was carrying a brown leather bag. He stopped walking when he was only a couple of feet away from Packard and his men, then crouched down and opened it with no showmanship whatsoever, turning it around so that Packard and his men could see inside.

Packard stared incredulously. In the bag there was so… so much –

"Money," Roy finished the thought for him. "Ransom, in exchange for Major Hawkeye."

After a moment or two, Elim frowned. "You want to buy me off without even finding out what I want first?" he raised his eyebrows, determined to not become off-put by this turn of events. "Awfully hasty of you. And here I was expecting you to do the predictable thing and try to take me out of the picture."

"You've come at a busy time," Roy explained, pulling his shoulders in a shrug. "I have few resources to spare for a terrorist with an agenda, and this way seemed much easier. It isn't as if the military is lacking for money, so I brought a small donation for your cause."

"Do you really believe I'll take you up on this?" Packard asked curiously.

Roy shrugged again. "If you would I'd very much appreciate it. I'm tired of risking lives arbitrarily – I'd rather get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible."

"And if I desired something else instead?"

"It would depend on what that something is, of course," he replied.

Packard cocked his head to the side and eyed Roy appraisingly, adrenaline kicking up a storm in his veins.

This was it.

"…Well," he said, slowly, deliberately, "I do wonder how much the Major means to you."

Mustang looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"Surely you know why, of all those close to you, we have chosen Riza Hawkeye."

The man was just as impervious to emotion as in the beginning of their meeting, yet Packard fancied he saw a bead of sweat trail down his temple. "I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea."

He tossed his head back and laughed for a good minute.

"Play it however you want, Mustang," he chuckled finally, after the bout of hilarity passed. "The question remains, how much would you be willing to give to get your whore back in one piece?"

The general's eyes flashed dangerously, and his tone was perfectly humorless as he replied, "Get to the point."

His smile faded, and he returned the hard gaze.

"Switch."

After a moment, Mustang blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Switch places with her. You, in exchange for the woman." His thick eyebrows rose as Mustang stayed quiet. "It isn't a difficult concept."

"Not difficult," Mustang agreed coldly. "I would even go so far as to call it barbaric."

Packard smiled. "Simple plans tend to go best, I've found." He paused, then prodded, "Well?"

"No."

"No?" Packard repeated in surprise. "You aren't going to trade for her?" he asked incredulously.

"Hawkeye is a soldier. She knows her duty, and would rightly take me to task if I did not do mine."

"So cold-hearted, Mustang?" Packard asked, looking quite frigid himself. "Then perhaps I wasn't wrong about you being an unfeeling bastard."

"I prefer to call it realistic. Besides, you're forgetting three things."

"Oh?"

"First, the military is only obligated to help civilians. It would be quite an annoyance to use human resources in battle otherwise, as I'm sure you're well aware. Secondly, Hawkeye is no longer of my division, and so I have no professional obligation to her. If you had done your research, you would have known that General Grumman is her direct superior."

Packard snorted. "And the third?"

Mustang smiled coolly.

"I'm the Flame Alchemist, you son of a bitch. And I don't know who put you up to this, but you are going to _regret _ever stepping foot in Central again."

* * *

"They've been at it a while, haven't they?" Havoc remarked in a light tone that belied his expression, eyes narrowed and focused on the small figures in the distance. "You think Packard might be actually listening to sense?"

"You never know," Fury replied hopefully, always the optimist. "Maybe."

"They're taking too long," a soldier muttered behind him. After a moment, he recognized the voice as the officer who'd alerted them about the hospital explosion. "They're talking too much."

Havoc exhaled. "As long as they're just talking, and not – what are you doing?" he let out in surprise as he saw the barrel of a gun beside him, and mindlessly, he stretched his arm with the intention of batting it away. "What- stop that!"

His fingers had barely touched the cold metal when the gunshot rang in his ears.

* * *


	23. In Which All Goes According To Plan?

_Chapter 22: In Which All Goes... According To Plan? _

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A/N: ...Okay, so schedule's still haywire, but for some reason I got inspired anew to write this story. It's good to know that a few people are still reading this, at least. I very much appreciated your reviews! 

No idea when the next update will be, but aren't you guys happy I did this one so quickly? And it's not half bad, either. It's nice to work with some different characters too for a change...

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Roy instinctively dove to the ground when he heard the shot, then quickly rolled behind a bench for cover. A quick glance while pulling on his gloves told him that Packard and his men were doing the same.

It also told him that his new secretary was an idiot.

"Ward!" he shouted, and repeated it when the other seemed to not hear. "Get down!"

The fool, still standing far too close to the terrorist for comfort, turned at the yell and looked at him quizzically. After moronically looking around – as if Roy would _possibly_ be addressing anyone else – he cocked his head at Roy in a quizzical fashion.

Did the idiot not know what gunshots were?

"You traitorous bastard!" Packard screamed at Mustang as a mercenary tossed him a gun. Sweat glinted on his dark face as he rose to a crouch, and his eyes were full of rage as he returned fire on the troops. "Take him!" Packard yelled to his men furiously.

By the time Ward and Mustang realized precisely what Packard meant, it was too late. Within seconds Ward felt his arms pulled and bent, and before he knew it his feet were off the ground and he had a cold metal thing pressed against his head.

"Cease fire!" Roy immediately called out, and a silence slowly emerged as the echo from the last shot hung in the air.

"That's right, Mustang," Packard breathed, straightening his shoulders and holding his gun at his side, "call your men off." As he regained his breath, Packard sneered in satisfaction. "Civilian _and _under your division, is he not?" he remarked. "I'll give you time to think it over. Let's see if you'd be more willing to save him than Major Hawkeye, hm?" He made a sudden, strange gesture.

Mustang's eyes widened.

The street exploded.

* * *

It hurt to live without your other half. 

Well, perhaps 'other half' wasn't exactly what he meant. He supposed that term should probably be reserved for his future wife or something.

But still, it was hard to not miss and be reminded of the little things – the sound of a chair scraping the floor as his brother got up and sat back down, in spite of how many times Fletcher had told him that the floor would get scratched and would he like to pay to redo it, because who would go into a bookstore with a floor that looks like the playground of an axe murderer; the smell of spaghetti with ketchup in the kitchen, because that was the only thing his brother knew to make that didn't necessitate a call to the fire department, plumber or poison control center; the easy, teasing laugh as he chatted up a girl and somehow convinced her to buy not only the steamy romance but also a guide to plants in Amestris and oh, is that a phone number? See you Thursday; the sight of clothes on the floor and on the sofa, just because it was too daunting a task for a 'young bachelor' to put them out of the way; how he'd sigh when it was a slow day at the shop, and wonder aloud something like whether the guy who invented alchemy was a caveman who'd just liked drawing circles too much, and could alchemy work with a square? We should ask the Elrics that sometime, maybe they'd know -

And it was a million things just like that, in a life of two brothers with too much time and not enough money, or maybe it was not enough money for not enough time? Which it was, Fletcher didn't know, just that now it was over it wasn't nearly enough.

Each day, unfailingly, he'd go to the police station on his way back to the foster home and ask hopefully after the investigation, always swallowing as he tried to say 'Russel' but choked.

The detective, a heavyset man with a tired smile who worked with as much enthusiasm as a cop close to retirement could muster, would always annoyingly ruffle his hair and sigh deeply. "Not today, kid. Not today," he'd say only, and Fletcher's heart would shrink, hope for catching his brother's killer dimming, just a little.

There will be a day when Fletcher will give up, and stop visiting the station, stop asking about his brother's murder. But not because he didn't want to find out.

But because he'll leave to find someone who would.

* * *

"General?!" Havoc's voice reached him as if from very far away. "Mustang!" 

He coughed hoarsely as he got to his feet and stumbled out of the smoke. "I'm all right," the general waved off a soldier who made as if to help him, and straightened, wincing when his left leg made a slight protest. "What's the status?"

"Nothing's collapsed, but windows imploded and I'd advise you not to sit on any of the benches - the ones left, anyway. A streetlamp broke off and hit some of the men, but they'll be fine. Most of us just inhaled a bit of smoke."

Relieved at the news, Roy didn't hesitate in pursuing the question that nagged at him most. "Who was the one who fired the first shot?"

A strange look came over Havoc's countenance, and the lieutenant replied, "Remember the sergeant who told us about the explosion? I'm ninety five percent sure it was him."

He raised an eyebrow. "So what's that face for?"

Havoc met Roy's gaze. "The thing is… I'm also ninety five percent sure he doesn't exist."

...The general just _looked _at him, eyebrow raised.

"No one has any idea who he is," Havoc elaborated. "And he disappeared sometime during the fighting. No name, and somehow I'm pretty sure his face won't show up on any records. But I _swear _he was right there -"

"Do you have any idea who he was aiming at?" Roy asked quietly, expressionless.

Havoc's eyes narrowed in surprise at the question – it seemed like an odd thing to focus on – and he frowned as he tried to recall the moment. "I don't think he was aiming for anyone in particular," he answered finally, the strangeness of it finally dawning on him. "He said something along the lines of it taking too long, that you were talking too much… but I don't think he meant to hit anyone in particular."

"I see," Mustang said thoughtfully, and left it at that.

A flash of curiosity flashed across Jean's face as his superior seemed to be contemplating something, but the bastard looked tightlipped as always.

He let it go, content to find out later. They always did - that was the way it worked. They just had to trust that their boss knew what he was doing, which was easy because he usually did. Usually.

Well, at least they always knew he had their best interests in mind.

...Usually.

"So," Havoc said, interrupting the other's brooding, "They've got Ward now?"

"Yes," Roy nodded in confirmation, and looked toward the ruined square, where pieces of glass, flakes of concrete and splinters of wood were strewn about. "Packard took him prisoner."

His words sounded completely solemn, properly grave, but oddly enough, his lips were twitching as if he was fighting back a smile.

…Or, perhaps more appropriately, a smirk.

* * *

"Hey, are you Riza Hawkeye?" 

The woman kept herself from jumping at the sudden noise; she hadn't heard anything in the darkness of her cell in the ten or so minutes she'd been awake, and the sudden change startled her more than she liked to admit. She was a bit disappointed with herself - Hawkeye would have thought that even beaten up (and unconscious with a very possible concussion, it should be added) she'd be able to detect a presence in the lightless room that was her prison, but she swallowed the indignity in favor of deliberating her next move.

Well, the question was absurd, but there was no point in pretending to be asleep – an unconscious woman doesn't get to find out why she's being held hostage, after all. Riza forced the pain in her cheek and side to subside, waited until she felt she could control her voice, then replied evenly, "Who's asking?"

Uneasy silence. They probably left, she thought, the bastards.

...But then, as if perplexed, came the singular, obvious reply - "Me."

It seemed like such a bizarre response that Riza actually turned on her side and stared uncertainly into the depths of darkness in the room, frowning as her eyes doubtfully made out a dark figure sitting with its back leaning on the wall, head turned in her direction.

He must have somehow seen the puzzlement on her face, for he elaborated, with the reasoning of a child, clearly thinking her a bit addled, "Who else can it be? There's no one else here."

She sat up painfully, leaning her back on the wall, one barely trembling hand brushing damp hair away from her eyes and feeling out the bruise under her brow. Riza couldn't very well see what it looked like, but she imagined it must be a swampy sort of green, which while not very alluring at least meant it was healing. A brief catalogue of all her hurts informed her that while she wasn't in the best of shape – an unfortunate consequence of attempting to fight back her captors – her body was at least serviceable, which was all she needed.

Directing her attention again to the corner, she carefully noted the man's form and, after a moment or two of contemplation, decided she could definitely take him.

Appeased by that thought, she queried, "Who are you?"

He shrugged. "Ward. So, are you Hawkeye? Mustang told me she'd be here."

She blinked in surprise. Of all things, that was one response she hadn't expected.

"…You know General Mustang?"

"Yeah, he's a jerk."

Not a wholly inaccurate depiction, the major thought wryly. "What do you want from me?"

There was a short, insignificant pause. "Nothing," he answered then, almost brightly if it wasn't for the dead look in his eyes.

It was becoming exasperating to try to extract information from this odd person. "What did Mustang want, then?" she specified.

"Help you escape. Or something like that."

* * *

"Why should I trust you?" Riza asked calmly. 

Ward, as the man called himself, seemed perfectly harmless, but she was not a new recruit to fall into the classic tricks of deception. He could very well be a plant, sent in by Packard to gather information on her General, or possibly the military itself if their goals were lofty enough. Since she hadn't been informed of their objectives as of yet – which surprised her a little, considering that gloating (and in the process revealing everything) was not an uncommon mistake for amateur terrorists - caution was felt only natural. This entire scheme seemed dreadfully organized and haphazardly concocted, but there was no telling what parts they might have gotten right.

The man paused, closed his mouth, and thought for a bit. Finally, he seemed to settle upon an answer. "Mustang sent me."

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes – likely Ward wouldn't see it anyway. "And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

He scrunched up his forehead. "You don't believe me?"

"Hardly. I know all of the General's men." And certainly very few of them had either the background or lack of training to call him by his name so familiarly.

"I'm his secretary. I think."

"That isn't very convincing," Hawkeye replied, raising an eyebrow. Now she was almost certain he was a spy. No matter how much Mustang might be tempted to hire an underling in her absence, he should know better than doing so without her approval.

…'_Should'_ being the key word.

But besides, even if he did, it would most likely be someone capable of pulling off wearing a skirt - certainly not a scrawny, unprofessional boy like this one, who sounded like he was just this side of normal.

Footsteps could be heard from outside. They paused outside the door, then continued on their way, but Ward's head didn't move an inch. "He did say you won't believe me unless I say what he told me to."

She waited, but he didn't seem inclined to go on, and his silhouette shifted against the wall as if searching for a more comfortable spot. Riza might have told him that his attempts were in vain, but she was too curious as to what he might say.

"Which is…?" she prompted patiently.

He blinked at her – she could see the whites of his eyes now - then answered, "Something about umbrellas. It was pretty stupid."

Riza shut her eyes and held in a sigh.

_He's the real thing, all right._

* * *

_The sudden flash of blue painted his world in cool, eerie colors, and for a moment he could see there were black marks on the floor, but it was just a trick of the light, because somehow he knew, he knew that really they were red –_

_The light whirled, flashed, danced. He watched his gauntlet disintegrate as it tried to reach the small, dark figure that was shaking, about to collapse…but there it was, getting up, coming closer, and an inexplicable fear gripped him. Edward's face was so bloodless, so pained, yet at the same time so infuriatingly calm it was all he could do to not scream, because it was too late, he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop thinking, he lied to me, he _lied -

_"…Brother, how _could_ you?"  
_

Alphonse Elric woke up not knowing why he was crying.

* * *


	24. In Which Ward Isn't Very Useful

_Chapter 23: In which Ward isn't the most useful person around _

* * *

A/N: So I 've just spent an embarrassing number of hours where I did nothing but dwell, edit, and write the heck out of a random scene I was writing for Array of Sacrifice, when I realized... I just wrote the end to this story. And damn if that wasn't the weirdest feeling in the world, because ending a story I love is the hardest thing for me to do - but before I knew it, it just _happened_, and for the life of me, I don't think I could have written it any better if you paid me. I kind of wish I'd made this into a drabble fic instead of an actual chaptered story just so I could put it up, but that would be an extreme cop out on my part. So never mind.

...Which is all very well, I'm sure, except there's still a long ways to go for you guys before you get to see it. And that's just not fair, to spend so much time on something and not having anything to show for it. So, for you guys - here's a chapter, just in time for the holiday season, just to show how much I care.

Happy holidays!

* * *

_Her feet slapped against the hardwood floor as the foreboding feeling continued to creep up her spine. There was no real reason for the rush, she would have realized had she stopped to think about it. But something told her that speed was of the essence._

--

_She had been smoking her pipe on the porch, Den laying at her feet as she awaited Winry and Al's return from the market – it did such good for these two to be up and away from the house - when suddenly she had felt inexplicably cold, as what she imagined it would feel to have a ghost passing through her._

_Her sharp stare flicked from object to object, searching for the cause of this unsettlement._

_No noise, nothing but the peaceful shush of the wind and the chirps of crickets in the field._

_And yet…and yet…_

_The old, beady eyes widened._

_--_

_Up the stairs and to the left, past the bathroom door –_

_"Edward!" she shouted out with a trembling breath, old bones creaking in protest as she came to a sudden stop in front of the door to their makeshift infirmary. A crinkly hand pushed it out of her way, and the small woman strode in briskly. "Edward!"_

_It was as she'd feared._

_The boy was unconscious, groaning softly under his breath as his head turned from side to side. His flushed face was wet and tears of sweat were interwoven with the limp hair that was splayed on the pillow. Small, skinny limbs moved feebly; whether in response to some physical torment or dream, Pinako didn't know. But she knew he _shouldn't _be in pain - not still, not like this, not after these past six months where against all odds, he actually seemed to be _winning _this foolish bet of his._

_What could possibly have triggered this relapse? the automail mechanic wondered for a moment, but then practically swept the question aside in favor of ameliorating the situation._

_She laid cautious hands on the boy's all-too-warm flesh shoulder, careful in case he recoiled as he woke up and then somehow damage his ports – or what was more likely, accidentally bash her in the head with twenty pounds' worth of steel._

_Pinako shook him gently, and softly called out his name. After what felt like many minutes, the dark eyelashes fluttered and dazed yellow orbs rolled into view._

_"Granny?"_

_She drew a stray golden lock away from his eyes. "How are you feeling, Ed?"_

_It took him a moment to think about it, the poor thing. "… Cold." He suddenly flinched, and his hands moved as if to rub at his arms. "F-freezing."_

_Touching the boy's face with the back of her hand, she frowned – he was burning up._

_She forced a smile. "Let's see about getting you an extra blanket then, hm?"_

_The kid almost invisible under the covers, Pinako settled in a chair beside the bed and wiped his forehead with a cool wet cloth._

_"Better?" she asked._

_His arm slumped against the bed wearily, and he didn't answer, but his harsh breathing abated a little as his muscles slowly relaxed._

_Somewhat satisfied, Pinako leaned back and put her trustworthy pipe to her mouth, taking a long relaxing inhale. "I'm getting too old for this," the old woman muttered under her breath, but then again she'd been saying that for twenty years, so it wasn't likely to make much difference._

_"…Hates me."_

_Pinako raised her eyebrows in concern. "What's that, sprout?"_

_His eyes were shut, and Pinako had the sudden suspicion it was more to hide tears than any effort to sleep. "That's why it hurts, isn't it?" Edward whispered, suddenly looking at the ceiling through a watery veil. "Mom doesn't love me anymore. That's what she's trying to say."_

_It had to be the fever talking, Pinako knew, but something about Edward's words rankled at her heart. "Of course your mother loves you, you idiot boy.__ Thinking any different is an insult to her memory.__"_

_His big eyes stared at her, and it was as if he spoke aloud._

_"Because I know you, I knew Trisha, and most importantly because I am older than you and know better, so stop questioning what I say." He looked away, and she sighed. "I'm not saying she'd approve of what you did, but I'm sure she'd be proud that you were such a good big brother to Al."_

_He bit his lip. "But -"_

_"No buts, Ed. You are a good brother, your mother loves you, and you'd be a fool to think otherwise. So don't let me hear this kind of thing again, you hear, boy?"_

_He avoided her eyes._

_"Edward," she said warningly._

_"… Okay," he whispered._

* * *

"So how are you meant to help me?"

"I…" Ward wriggled in place, and for the first time she realized that his feet and hands were bound by rope. "I can't… I can't move," he said slowly, his voice disturbed – as if he too had just noticed the fact – then promptly stopped struggling, which Riza thought was odd but was unduly grateful for. Handling panic attacks was not her forte.

"Hold on," she instructed. Riza positioned her feet underneath her, and slowly, with the help of a steadying hand on the concrete wall, her legs pushed up until she was more or less standing. The wall was a support for a few strides, soon but she found her balance and made her way next to him. Only a slight, quivering sliver of light shone from the vertical slit between the door and the wall, but of course it was not nearly enough for her to be able to pick out details.

She knelt and felt for his bindings in the darkness. The ropes were tightly secured around his wrists and ankles, and after a few seconds of perusal Riza concluded that whoever tied him up had been rather inconveniently competent.

His body was unnaturally rigid, breathing was quiet but shallow, and as Hawkeye looked downwards she saw sweat bead on the blank face. Her forehead wrinkled in sympathy; he was younger than she'd thought he'd be. And he obviously found the restriction in movement upsetting.

"It'll be all right," she said gently, meaning to calm him.

He raised his head, and as their eyes met for the first time, the sliver of light glanced over the orbs and, for a scant moment, arrayed them in nothing less than liquid gold.

A little gasp escaped her involuntarily - it was as if time had stopped, or suddenly ran backwards -

_…His gaze came to rest on her face, his large golden eyes pleading. "It's in case… in case something happens to me."_

Four years, and still she remembered that gaze, that unique fire that burned to look at and hurt to ignore. Four years, and still it was like it was only yesterday that she had inadvertently allowed a mere boy to die fulfilling his dream. To trick her – all of them – until it was too late.

Four years, she thought, marveling at how the grief and guilt were yet still there, just beneath the surface, ready to be recalled at any insignificant detail – even a complete stranger's eyes. For a brief, irrational second, she had the sudden urge to suddenly call out that name and see if this person would respond. But luckily the moment passed, and when she came back to herself Riza found the gold had already faded as if it had never been, and instead she was left looking at clueless, murky brown eyes, watching her with something she did not know to name.

"It hurts," Ward said earnestly, almost childishly. "Can you take these things off, Hawkeye?"

Riza frowned. "They're tight," she said, not answering. "Next time you're being tied up with rope, make your hands into fists to make them as large as possible. That way you'll have more space to maneuver out of your bindings."

Ward looked slightly alarmed. "Next time?"

"If there is one," she explained absently, hands alternately pulling and pushing at the rope. She managed to loosen it up a bit so blood could flow a bit more easily, but it was only a tiny step forward. "If only I had something sharp… well, there's no help for it."

Hawkeye had been divested of her military jacket, but she still had a belt around her waist. If she could manage to break the clasp, it just might be jagged enough to help her make some sort of headway on the ropes. The question was, of course, whether it was worth the effort; if their captors came in while she was busy attempting to free him, it likely wouldn't end well for either of them. However, if she didn't, she might very well regret having the advantage two people would over one.

As if on cue, Hawkeye's heartbeat started pounding in her ears. Her instincts were telling her to make the decision, and fast - there was no telling when someone might decide to come and check in on their two prisoners.

And so Riza looked at Ward's face, and tried to ascertain whether he was worth the trouble, whether he'd be an aid more than a hindrance, whether it might actually be a better idea to leave him tied up.

He returned the look. "Would you like a knife?"

A blink was the only sign of her surprise, and her mind sighed in relief as the decision was taken from her hands.

"I would, very much."

* * *

Thank heavens for that conniving General of hers, Riza thought as she kicked the two bodies on the floor out of he way, then on second thought, dragged the limp things into the room and closed the door on them. If it hadn't been for his scheming, chances were she wouldn't have been motivated to escape as quickly and determinedly as she was now. Mustang knew well enough to expect her to step it up when another's life was on the line, and having that person loaded with information and even a concealed weapon (a box-cutter ingenuously disguised as a pen. Really, modern technology was astounding) – was the finishing touch of a master puppeteer. No one else would have _intentionally_ tricked terrorists into taking another prisoner – and a young, clueless civilian, at that – but that was Roy Mustang, manipulating every player on the field (herself included, she admitted wryly) to garner the best possible results for everyone.

...Well, perhaps not everyone. Riza wasn't all too clear on whether the two men on the ground were dead or alive, having not particularly tried for either, but she wasn't about to waste the time to find out. Their silence had been her main objective, and so when the door had flown open, she had wasted no time in calling up her old training and immobilizing the targets before they could find it in their heads to call out an alarm. – one had been pierced in the stomach with Ward's knife and clubbed over the head, and the other had been quickly strangled using her belt.

He watched her now, quietly, looking a bit lost; once she'd freed the knife from the pen in his pocket protector and cut his bonds he hadn't been much of use, mostly just stood off to the side with an unreadable look on his face while she'd taken care of business. He had instinctively directed a well-placed kick at the second man to enter while she'd been busy with the first, but afterwards he'd stayed in place, frozen, as if astonished at his own actions. Not that she could blame him for that – not everyone was a soldier – but it really could wait for sometime _after _they've managed to make their escape.

"Does it hurt you to do that?" he asked, after a moment or two of walking. His silent, unreadable eyes suddenly seemed to be overflowing with unvoiced thoughts and emotions and… and something.

Hawkeye suspected she knew what he meant, but this really wasn't the time for these sorts of questions. "Please don't talk unless it's necessary," she said, not unkindly.

" Okay."

Riza grabbed his wrist and forced him on to a fast walk. "Do you remember where they put your things?" she asked quietly, reasoning that wherever they'd stashed his possessions was probably where her gun was.

The woman glanced back and saw him blink, then shake his head. "I don't have any things."

She gritted her teeth. Damn.

They reached a corner, and Riza carefully let go of Ward's arm to glue herself to the wall and cautiously take a look to the next corridor.

Empty.

She did the same to the next corner. And the next.

…Also empty.

She frowned, then shrugged to herself in acceptance. Clearly Mustang was doing his part in engaging the kidnappers.

It was several corners later when a thought came to her, and she slowed down, biting back a groan. God help her, if that was really the case, she just might shoot something. "Ward?"

He made some sort of noise in his throat in response. Riza didn't bother cataloging it.

"Did you happen to have some of Mustang's things on you when you got here?"

Ward nodded.

"Did they happen to confiscate any of them from you?"

"Yup."

She fought back the urge to slap her forehead. "...Do you remember where they put them?"

"Yup."

Hawkeye was only _slightly _comforted by the thought that she might reclaim her gun soon. "Lead me there, if you please."

* * *

_A/N: _Haha, Ward's so out of it. It's a wonder Riza puts up with him - though it's not like she has much choice. But it'll pay off, I'm sure. Eventually.

Myself, I'm surprised at how responsive she seems to make him - he usually doesn't ask questions, if you've noticed. But I guess that aside from Gracia, she's the least emotionally-scarring person he's encountered so far... and yes, I'm pretty sure Elysia is emotionally scarring. 'Are you an alien', indeed...

On another note, almost three hundred reviews! You know how it goes - the reviewer to hit the 300 mark gets a drabble in their honor. So if you'd like a drabble, please review and tell me what you think!

And also, I'm really, really starting to hate having to come up with chapter titles...

* * *


	25. And Apparently Doesn't Have Much Sense

* * *

_Chapter 23: And Apparently Doesn't Have Much Common Sense, Either  
_

* * *

_Author's Note: _Gasp! Could this be an update?

Yes, yes it is. Sorry guys, truly I am. School has been unforgivably difficult this semester, and inspiration had fled from me like neurotransmitters released to cholinergic receptors. That is to say, quickly and deliberately.  
However! With summer, new manga chapters and new one-shots, my creative fount has replenished itself.

And so I give you the newest chapter of AoS. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Did you really think you could hide, Packard? Did you really think the military couldn't trace your calls back here?" the dark-haired man called out, standing straight and proud as he snapped his fingers. A smirk crept onto his face as he observed the alarm on the mercenaries' faces, and the dance of flames and shadows painted his countenance into a yet more ominous expression. "I _warned _you not to underestimate me!"

A forceful hand unceremoniously pulled him down by the arm just as a bullet passed alarmingly close to where his shoulder had been.

"...I'd thank you to not provoke the terrorist, General," a voice next to him snapped sternly.

Roy Mustang made an innocent face at Breda, who hadn't spared his commander a glance even while saving his life. "I was trying to get him to show himself," he responded, a bit annoyed, and a rush of fire erupted from his hand.

"Frankly, sir, we could do without you getting shot in the process."

"…You're missing the point," Mustang managed as they dove for cover behind a shop. A dark eye peered in the direction of the large abandoned post office, where the mercenaries had hastily erected a four-foot wall using sandbags. It wasn't continuous or overly stable by any means, but it did the job of giving them cover quite effectively.

He sent out a surge of flames and listened for the pained yell before rolling behind a nearby trash can and speaking again. "If we want this to go anywhere, we have to provoke a direct confrontation. Otherwise it will take us all day to clear them out."

Havoc broke out from the lines and joined them, shooting his rifle almost blindly as he ran up next to Breda, where he took a few moments to catch his breath. Then, with a quick, snappy motion, he reloaded, aimed, and managed to obstruct the path of an unlucky fly with the passing force of his bullet, but otherwise inconvenienced no one else in particular.

"How're you holding up, General?" he asked politely as he shifted his balance onto the balls of his feet and redirected his aim to the center of a ruddy face with rather more facial hair than was strictly decent.

"Bored to death, but otherwise all right," Mustang answered, snapping his fingers at the same target and quickly leaning back out of sight.

"Breda?"

"I would be fine if someone could stop trying to catch bullets _with their body_. Seriously, I don't understand what Mustang's doing here in the first place - he's a _Major General_ now, for God's sake, by all rights he should be getting fat and giving out orders from behind a desk -"

"'Promoted' is not a synonym for 'sedentary' or 'useless', lieutenant," Mustang interjected mildly. "And you may want to watch what you say, since last time I checked I still handled your paycheck."

"But not for much longer if you continue to gloat in front of rifles, sir," came the dry retort. "...With all due respect."

Havoc clapped a hand onto Breda's shoulder and rose from his crouch. "Sounds like you two are having fun. Have at it, sir, good to see you moving. Breda, keep looking out for the general, I'm going to go in."

"Like I wasn't doing that any - wait, what?"

Mustang's and Breda's heads shot up to look at their comrade in alarm as he reloaded and seemed to ready himself for a run.

"Lieutenant Havoc! What do you think you're doing?" Mustang yelled, still taking cover from behind the waste disposal.

Havoc chucked his helmet up and flashed them a shameless grin over his shoulder.

"Well like you said, General, we gotta get things moving."

"_Havoc!_"

* * *

No words can describe the heartfelt reunion of Riza and her gun. That was mostly because her face was as unreadable as ever while she glided her hand over the smooth, shiny metal, fingers neatly slipping into its familiar hold as she reloaded and thumbed the safety – and also no one was really paying attention. The three brutes who'd guarded the storage room had been taken by surprise with nothing but a straight flush, royal flush and a two of a kind in their hands (a pity they'd been playing go fish, really). Now they were lying on the floor unconscious, dead, and comatose respectively, and not in any condition to reflect on their own emotional state - much less Riza's.

In the meantime, Ward was contemplating the briefcase filled with money and trying to calculate in his head whether its contents were worth more than his salary. After a few moments of perusal, the final number almost glowing in the front of his mind's eye – he wondered how many pies Gracia would be willing to make for that amount – he decided becoming a ridiculously rich felon was not worth giving General Mustang the excuse to come after him.

"Come on." He turned to see the Major watching him semi-impatiently. "We should get going."

"Okay," he answered.

After a second of hesitation, he grabbed the briefcase.

It was his responsibility, after all. Better bring that back.

* * *

Because they had gone deeper inside the complex in order to retrieve Riza's gun, and Hawkeye had been more or less unconscious when she was brought in, Ward was the one leading them out. At first Hawkeye was hesitant – after all, Ward was not exactly equipped to handle any hostile forces coming round the corner. Not that that meant she was willing to hand him her pistol, but she had considered giving him one of the mercenaries' guns, before coming to the conclusion that arming an untrained civilian was tantamount to turning her back on an enemy and politely waiting for them to shoot.

…Riza would just have to be quick enough, that's all.

And so, for the sake of expediency (and both their safety), Ward was in front and unarmed while Riza followed closely behind.

As they neared this next door, they slowly began to hear shouts, and noises that sounded suspiciously like gunshots. Riza slowed, soldier's instincts telling her to survey the situation before progressing, and her common sense and sense of self-preservation telling her that no matter the consequences, running into a gunfight was pretty obviously a _bad idea_.

Ward, however, had no such instincts, and had probably left his common sense wherever his social cue dictionary was.

"This is it," he called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Had he had his way, Ward would have walked straight into a volley of bullets and probably been dead within seconds. Luckily for him, however, Hawkeye had seen his movements and quickly pulled him back by his collar, bruising his throat a little (though not nearly as much as Mustang had), but all in all it was probably just a bit less painful than having one's body be ravaged by bullets.

"Are you _crazy_?" she hissed into his ear, astounded by his recklessness.

He turned to her, and her eyes instinctively met his. Instead of the fright or shock she expected, however, his eyes only conveyed a bit of surprise – and then the line of his mouth slowly widened into what might be called a smile.

And yet, his smile was like a scratch across his face - thin, painful... and ultimately, not supposed to be there.

"I'm not used to having to dodge bullets," he said, a bit sheepishly, the small, strangely sincere smile still on his lips.

She was having none of it. The boy had nearly given her a heart attack.

"I suggest that for the time being you let me go first then, Mr. Ward. For _both_ our sakes."

The door opened again, this time from the outside, with such tremendous force that the two of them were easily bowled over.

They toppled to the ground, squashed under the weight of something large and… and blond… that smelled strangely familiar, like…

Cigarette smoke…?

"Ah, Ward, Hawkeye," let out a dazed First Lieutenant Havoc. "Fancy seeing you two here."

"Lieutenant Havoc!" Hawkeye struggled from under him. Ward was in a similar situation but much more at peace with it, lying down motionlessly and silently trying to determine how many of his internal organs were intact.

"Oh," he rolled off the two and unsteadily rose to his feet, looking rather bedraggled and worse for wear.

"What's the situation?" Hawkeye asked sharply as she stood. Then she softened, "Are you all right?"

"I'm better than I look, I'm sure," the man answered wryly, patting dust and dirt off his legs. Then in reply to her first question he responded, "Mustang and the rest are outside, fighting Packard's men. I broke through the lines trying to get in here – lucky you two opened this door, I would have been toast otherwise." He assessed them with a brief look, eyes twinkling with a faint ironic smile. "I came to help you guys out… but looks to me like you don't need much rescuing after all."

"We were just on our way out, but the gesture's appreciated in any case," she smiled warmly.

"Well then, I'll join you." He slugged his rifle off his shoulder and looked at the door from which he came from. "Hope you don't mind if I put in my two cents, but in my professional opinion this way is not exactly the epitome of a safe escape route."

"I think finding a side door will be more conducive to our escape," Hawkeye agreed.

_Click. _"Oh, I don't know about that," a voice from behind said carelessly, and they turned as one to find a gun pointed in their direction.

Packard smiled at them amiably and continued, "I think you'll find that that one is blocked as well."

* * *

The woman picked up the phone. "Rockbell Automail, can I help you?"

"...Wow, Winry, you sound so... not you."

Her smile widened in delight. "Al!" she cried. A moment later, the blue eyes narrowed at the wall in front of her, "...Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Alphonse said hurriedly, and wisely moved on. "How are you?"

"Oh, same as usual. You know how it is." She breathed out slowly, and said carefully, "So I guess you're back from wherever it is you went?"

His voice was deeper than she remembered. "Yeah, I'm staying at Teacher's again."

She bit her lip, and her fingers played with the phone cord nervously. "So how... how's that going for you?"

"It's okay," he said nonchalantly. "How's Granny doing?"

Winry noticed the change in subject. "She's wondering when you're going to get your act together and come back home," she said irritably. "Otherwise she's fine."

"Oh," Al said only, and Winry instantly regretted being snappy with him. She knew he didn't mean to be enigmatic, and Al was the last person she wanted to alienate, especially as she hadn't heard from him in months.

And God only knew when he'd call again - Al meant well, really he did, and usually kept in touch fine... but he could get so caught up in whatever he was doing that he forgot about the world _completely_.

And between that and his going off and disappearing, then returning without even a decent explanation to satisfy those who worried back home -

...It reminded her of old times a bit too much.

"Sorry, Al," she apologized. "It's been a long day."

"It's okay," Alphonse replied , ever the sweetheart. (Really, she couldn't blame him for anything when he took her moods so well) He paused hesitantly. "I wanted to ask you something, but I can call back later if you're tired..."

"No!" she answered quickly, clutching the phone tight and pressing it close to her ear. "I'm fine. I'm _great_. What did you want?"

"It's not all that important, really. I can call back later."

She rolled her eyes at the wall. "Come on, you know you can tell me."

"Well..." Breath. "I..."

It's been a long time since she'd heard his voice be so uncertain. "Al, spit it out," she ordered, slightly concerned.

"I was just wondering if -"

At that moment, the dog nudged her leg with his cold nose, tail wagging and clearly wanting to be let outside.

"Jeeze Den, I let you out an hour ago," she hissed irritably at him, covering the mouthpiece. She returned the phone to her ear, making silent shooing gestures at the dog. "Sorry, Al, what was it?"

"...Have you ever heard Brother mention anything about a door or, say... a Gate?" Al asked casually.

Winry blinked.

"...No," she replied, "Can't say I have."

* * *

"Let's be reasonable here," Havoc said slowly. "No one needs to get hurt."

Packard laughed bitterly. "It's a little too late for that." The man strode closer, rifle steady in his hands. He glanced at Hawkeye and Ward. "I see you two managed to escape. Well, no harm done. I'm sure my men will come in and back me up any second now."

"I think they're a little busy," Havoc returned dryly. "I don't know where you got them, but these guys were so poorly trained it's almost a crime."

Packard scowled. "Even so, I still hold the upper hand. Move closer together, if you please. And you, Lieutenant, can drop that gun you're holding and kick it over to me."

Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged glances. Hawkeye nodded, and Havoc sighed reluctantly as he tossed his rifle to the ground and batted at it halfheartedly with his foot. They moved closer to Ward, and Hawkeye used the cover of Enkelbert's back to take out her pistol.

"Why are you doing this, Packard?" Hawkeye asked, stalling for time. "Why are you targeting General Mustang?"

"Think of me as an avenger for the crimes he committed fifteen years ago," Packard snapped. "They told me to make him sweat – as if I would let him off so easy. He will burn for what he did."

_They?_ Havoc frowned, but then Ward spoke, looking confused, "Isn't fifteen years a long time? How can you remember what to be angry about?"

"Ward, shut up," Hawkeye hissed.

Havoc stepped forwards, hands aloft in the air and maintaining eye contact with the man holding the gun. "Packard, you can cut the bravado. I know you can't kill anyone."

Packard swung his gun in his direction. "Don't you underestimate me," he growled. "I-"

"Even in the explosion at the hospital," Havoc interjected, "the only people to die were old patients with weak hearts, and they weren't even in the part of the building you bombed. You're not a soldier, you're a doctor. Whatever grievance you have, it's not enough to make you kill."

"Don't tell me that! Don't you _dare_!" he cried furiously. "My Remy's _dead_! He killed her! And Holly…" Something changed in Packard's face – broke or snapped, they couldn't tell, but suddenly the cold terrorist in front of them became nothing more menacing than a grieving husband and father. "She… she wasn't even two!"

And despite everything, when confronted with this honest anguish Hawkeye couldn't help but feel for him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's not fair."

He turned his head and just _looked_ at her, face contorted into an expression she feared to interpret. "My life is _hell, _Major. Do you know what it's like, to lose everything? To wake up every day and have no purpose, nothing to live for?"

Next to her Ward stiffened, almost imperceptibly, and took a small step back, his back colliding with the gun in Riza's hand.

"What are you doing?" Havoc muttered under her breath as he felt them jostle behind him.

Packard noticed the movement, and the wild brown eyes focused on the hapless secretary. "_You_ know. You have the eyes – that's what it is. Whoever you really are, you _know_, don't you? You know what it's like."

Ward kept silent.

"But you're too young." He suddenly turned inexplicably furious, and his burly figure almost seemed to grow larger as he stepped forward. "Why do you have them? What could you have possibly lost? How can you have these eyes?!"

Something passed over Enkelbert's face, but then his expression became empty as usual, and he shrugged carelessly. "I think I was born with them."

Packard stared for a moment, then smiled humorlessly. "Then I will let you die with them, as well."

He raised his gun. Ward looked back blankly.

Havoc's eyes widened. "Wait, don't shoot -"

_Bang._


	26. In Which First Aid Is A Handy Skill

* * *

_Chapter 25: In Which First Aid Is A Handy Skill  
_

* * *

_Author's Note: _Guess who's back?

* * *

The gun flew in an elegant arc to the floor as Packard clutched his hand in pain. The pistol was still smoking as Riza stepped forward and aimed it at the man's head.

Moan of pain. "You…"

Riza thumbed back the hammer. "Me," she replied coldly.

Havoc heaved a sigh and stepped up next to her, locking gazes with the criminal. "I'm afraid it's time for some answers, Doctor." He brought out a cigarette and started searching his back pocket for a light. "Who's behind this little venture of yours?"

"Go to hell," Packard spat back."Get rid of Mustang, and maybe then I'll think about cooperating."

"You'll cooperate _now_," Riza responded smoothly, stepping closer. "Or I will shoot you a hole in your other hand to match."

"You know," Havoc said calmly, lighting his cigarette, "I don't even care what grudge you hold towards the General – someone's clearly been feeding you lies so you would do what they want, and I trust him a lot more than I trust them. The question is," he pinned Packard with his eyes, "does the puppet know who's pulling the strings?"

"How dare you," Packard hissed, fury and pain working his face. "How _dare _you imply I'm not working on my own, as if I am not my own master! Nobody controls me!"

"Give it a rest, Packard." The lieutenant took a long drag. "You've already let it slip that someone else is sponsoring this little event. Even if you hadn't, you really mean to tell me a little doctor fresh out of the loony bin got enough funds and tactical knowledge to hire mercenaries and know what to do with them? You have a dangerous penchant for underestimating people, Doc."

"Fuck you."

Hawkeye lost her patience. "You have ten seconds," she declared lowly. "Ten."

Packard went cross-eyed as he tried to look at the barrel jabbed hard against his forehead. "What – you -" He stammered.

"Um, Hawkeye..."

"Nine." The mahogany eyes were icy.

"You can't kill me – you won't find out anything that way!"

"Eight."

"Bluff," he determined hesitantly, looking sick. "This is a bluff."

"_Five_."

His eyes grew wide as he blurted incredulously, "You can't do that!!"

"Watch me. _Four_."

He was starting to visibly panic. "I can't say anything, they'll kill me!"

"Correction: _I _will kill you. Three."

"I don't know who they are, I swear! They just came and -"

"Two."

"No, _listen_!" he cried desperately. "They came to me, told me Mustang was to blame for my family' death – showed me proof! And they told me they could help me get revenge, I just had to do what they said, they could even get me men, explosives, whatever I needed-"

"Who are they? One."

"I don't know! I swear," he blabbered, "I _swear, _I don't know! I never saw their faces, there was just this skinny guy, almost a kid, but made you shiver just to listen to him, I don't know how it's possible but I'm not even sure he was hum-"

"_Zero_," a smooth voice spoke from behind.

Riza and Jean stared wide-eyed at the small rip in Packard's shirt as it filled with something red and sticky. The man stared back at them in astonished, pale horror, fell slowly to his knees… and then crumbled to the ground.

* * *

Jean whirled about to face the dark corridor behind them.

…Nothing.

"Who's there?" Riza called out from beside him, stepping forward.

Something moved in the shadows. A laugh echo from the walls, accompanied by soft and rapid footsteps. The two waited a moment, but it quickly became clear that whoever it was, it was avoiding further confrontation.

Riza made as if to follow, but Jean grabbed onto her forearm. "Let's see to him first," he nodded with his head toward the man lying on the ground. "There's a chance the gunshot wasn't fatal."

Her tense muscles held still for a second, then relaxed. "You're right," she conceded reluctantly. Much as she would have liked to pursue Packard's shooter, as fruitless as that would likely turn out to be – especially in a setting she was unfamiliar with – the responsible thing was to take care of the terrorist leader and make sure he lived long enough to go to jail.

* * *

"I feel like I should know this already, but how much do you know of first aid, Riza?" Havoc asked as he tore off his sleeve with his teeth, attempting to create a makeshift bandage.

"Basic field training, nothing more," Hawkeye replied as she craned her head over Packard's mouth, checking for breathing.

"Crap," he muttered feelingly, and she couldn't help but agree. They were both at the same level, more or less. "Well, is he breathing?"

"I might be missing it, but I can't hear anything." Riza waited five seconds more, then felt for his heartbeat. "Heartbeat's there, though, but it's slow and irregular," she determined.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, trying to maneuver strips of clothes around Packard's waist.

"With a first aid kit available, he might have been able to hold on for half an hour. Without one… ten minutes, give or take a few."

Havoc swore.

"Cool trick," another voice remarked tiredly, sounding somewhat impressed. "How long do I have?"

Riza and Jean raised their heads.

Ward looked back at them faintly from where he was leaning against the wall, having stayed quiet so far. His right hand holding onto his left arm as blood dyed the pink sleeve red. "Not too short, please," he mumbled as he slid slowly to the floor, eyes fluttering shut. "Mrs. Hughes will get m-mad if I… miss... dinner…"

"_Ward_!"

* * *

_Water ran freely down her cheeks, but the expression on her face was pure, unadulterated victory._

_"Good job," he told her. The words were empty ones, spoken only for the sake of acknowledging the incredible adrenaline rush that had allowed the girl to lever the beam away from her trapped leg. But he didn't know what else to say._

_The girl rolled over to look at him, only slightly wincing at the pain. Their gazes met, and he wondered whether she was going to yell at him. She seemed to like doing that.  
_

_"Thank you," she said instead, surprising him._

_He wasn't sure how to respond, so he just stood there awkwardly. "Sure."_

_She nodded her head at him tiredly, and her dark eyes closed shut as she propped herself on her elbows and slowly sat up. "Where is mama?" she asked._

_"Who?"_

_Her eyes fluttered open. They looked worried. _

_"Mama, mi mama! She was… praying, in the church." She looked to the right, and her eyes widened. It was probably the first time she could see the destruction brought on her little town. "Where… where is it?" she asked in a tiny voice. "I can't see it. Everything's… different."_

_"I don't think it's there anymore," he said honestly._

_Her numerous black braids swung as she turned her head to glare at him. "Mama's fine," the sharp little girl said, daring him to say otherwise._

_ "Probably not," he told her softly._

Voices.

"Havoc? Hawkeye!"

"General!"

"Sir, we need a medical team, stat. Packard's a mess, and Ward… Ward's hurt."

"We have a medic right here. Dawson, go to Packard first, we need him alive and talking. Heyman?"

"Sir!"

"Get Farman on the radio, we need paramedics inside the building for two injured. Tell him to take the side entrance."

"On it, sir!"

_Her eyes widened. She made a small noise in the back of her throat that he couldn't identify… and then stumbled to her feet and bolted through the charred ruins of her village, limping._

_He looked after her small figure and, after a moment, turned away._

_--_

_He stood on top of a hill, wondering where to go next. He should probably take advantage of the fact he was awake and coherent, although it was early yet to tell how long that would last._

_A small sob made him look back. _

_The girl's eyes peeked at him through a veil of tears. "I couldn't find her," she sniffed, wiping at her nose with a sleeve. "Not anywhere."_

_He watched her face for a long moment. "Sorry," he said finally. "I didn't see her." _

_Or anyone, for that matter._

_"Why… why would anyone do that?" her figure was brittle but strong as she stared down at the devastation below. She would survive, he could tell. "Did we do something wrong?"_

_He had no answer to give her. Things like these - people things - were beyond his scope._

"Shit, he's not looking good. What happened?"

"Packard shot at him... but I was so sure Hawkeye got to him before he could pull the trigger-"

"It was my fault, sir. I was too slow - I didn't even notice his injury, I was so focused on Packard that I ignored everything else."

"It didn't help that he was so quiet, either - it was easy to overlook him, and he didn't even cry out in pain or anything."

"By the time we noticed anything was wrong, he was already bleeding out pretty heavily.."

_"What – what now?" she asked tremblingly. "What do I do now?"_

_He stepped closer to her and kneeled, bringing him to her eye level. His eyes, reflecting the sunset, looked into her eyes contemplatively. _

_She tensed under the piercing, measuring gaze, but held very still._

_"I guess you come with me. If you want."_

_The autumn wind blew and whistled softly, causing the dry leaves to swirl around the girl's feet. The sun was dimming in the distance, turning red and casting everything in long, warm shadows. He stood and closed his eyes against the gale, imagining being able to feel it. He could feel her eyes on him, measuring, wondering – and he heard the telling little gasp when she finally noticed and figured it out._

_To her credit and his surprise, she didn't scream or run away. Just stared at him in child-like wonder. "So that's what Mama meant," she said slowly, awestruck._

_"What?"_

_"When she said my papa's familia is watched by angels."_

_It took him a moment to figure out what she meant. "I'm not an angel."_

_"Then what?" she asked skeptically, crossing her arms._

_He shrugged, looked away. He didn't like thinking about those kinds of things. _

_"What's your name?"_

_"I don't…" he paused, reconsidered. "Ward?" _

_Someone had called him that, once. It had felt nice… he thought. Maybe? It was hard to remember._

_He turned to the girl, suddenly curious. "What are you called?"_

_"Isabelle. Isabelle Enkelbert."_

"What about you two? Are you all right?"

"As well as can be expected, sir."

"Better than Ward, anyway." Someone was wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Poor guy. That's some first day for a secretary."

"Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask your opinion, Riza. What do you think of the newest addition to the staff?"

_ "Isabelle Enkelbert," he echoed. He blinked. "Enkelbert?" he frowned._

_For the first time since Ward came across the girl, Isabelle smiled. _

_"In my papa's language, it means 'bright angel.'"_

"He bears some work... but I think he'll do just fine."

* * *

A/N: I'm kind of nervous about this chapter - I feel like I'm giving a lot away... and I'm not sure if it's time yet, or if I should hold my cards for yet another couple chapters... so I really hope you guys appreciate it. I'm looking forward to hear everyone's reactions as we get another look into Ward's past... and if you're clever - able to see 'underneath the underneath', as it were - you'll find I am telling you a heck of a lot...

That's it for now. Hope everyone enjoyed!

* * *


	27. In Which Ward Is Ridiculously Hungry

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_Chapter 26: In Which Ward Recovers His Appetite With A Vengeance  
_

* * *

_Author's Note: _I know, I know... this is long overdue, especially since I left off on such a cliffhanger. Sorry, but real life butted in, and you know how real life gets when things like writing get in her way. Good news, though - the next chapter is mostly done, and has a 100% chance of Al. And a heavy dose of Al, too. So review this chapter, make me happy... and I will post the next one that much more quickly, I promise!

* * *

_"No… records? Nothing…"_

_"Still… isn't uncommon… places in Amestris… far from…"_

_"When…?"_

_"…Didn't say…"_

_"And Riza… not fair. I was…"_

_"Leave it be, Lieutenant. She… off easy."_

_--  
_

Ward opened his eyes.

His world seemed to be just an expanse of white, stretching as far as he could see.

_No_. _Not again._

His heartbeat quickened, started pounding in his ears – and then he remembered.

_Heartbeat… Heart. I'm not like that anymore._

_I'm _here_._

He breathed out a sigh of relief – yet another proof – and turned his attention to the task of figuring out where he was.

Moving his head seemed like a good start.

It was more difficult than he expected – at first he forgot to account for gravity, and apparently he'd been lying down for a while, because his neck was inexplicably sore. Whatever he was lying on, too, conformed to the contours of his body so well that it was almost too comfortable to fight against.

...Ward wasn't much of a fighter. He closed his eyes, and slept.

* * *

_"…Shouldn't wake him."_

_"Would serve him right, considering how long he's been out of it."_

_"A week, right? I thought the doctors said he's recovered."_

_"He is. If you ask me, he's just taking advantage of the circumstances. I don't think he has too much experience with sleeping in decent beds."_

_"Thought you didn't know anything about him, General."_

_"I know that much. Which is more than I can say for Alex."_

_"Speaking of which, I still don't understand why he got you to take on a complete -"_

"Finally, Ward. Took you long enough."

Ward blinked at the ceiling, then let his eyes drift to his left, where dark blue eyes gazed at him steadily.

_Whoa, déjà vu_, came the strange, errant thought. Ward blinked it away.

"Hospital," he said slowly as the answer came to him.

Roy Mustang nodded, only his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Right. How are you feeling?"

He shrugged his answer. Ward didn't particularly want to sit up – it was rather comfortable where he was – but he didn't like looking up at Mustang. There was just something annoying about it.

But his arm buckled the moment he dared put weight on it, and an undignified yelp wrenched from his throat. Ward stared down in surprise, eyes wide.

"What- what's wrong with me?" he whispered, suddenly horrified.

"Take it easy, champ," Havoc's voice accompanied the arms gently propping him up against a pillow. "You got shot, remember?"

Ward's eyes flicked up to the blonde man. "Oh, right," he said, relaxing, throwing fascinated glances at his arm.

--

"So, uh, how're you feeling?" Havoc asked uncomfortably, forgetting that the question had already been asked. There was something wrong when a man was visibly relieved by the fact he'd been shot. Although it was a relief to see that the pain was, at the very least, manageable – the way Mustang had carried on for the past week, stoic and stony, Havoc knew the man must be feeling responsible for forcing the man into Hawkeye's rescue. Having the secretary awake and visibly recovered must alleviate some of that weight on his shoulders.

The light brown eyes looked over at him briefly. "My arm is - isn't bad," he said, a lie if they ever heard one. "My stomach…" he started, then stopped.

"Your stomach?" He exchanged concerned glances with Mustang – as far as they knew, there was nothing wrong with Ward other than his arm and a serious case of malnutrition. And some other things, but Havoc didn't think hospitals had treatment for those.

"I'm… I think I'm…" Curiously, a hint of pink suddenly bloomed on the man's cheeks. "…Oh."

"'Oh?'" Mustang repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm kind of hungry," he said sheepishly, seeming almost awed by the fact. He blinked, as if in realization. "_Really_ hungry."

They stared.

He looked at them hopefully. "…Grab me a sandwich?"

--

They couldn't help but watch in fascination. It was a bit like a train wreck - horrible, but good luck tearing your eyes away.

Despite having the use of only one hand, Ward was shoveling food into his face with all the grace of a baby chimpanzee, practically inhaling the meal the nurses had brought him and devouring with relish - _relish_ - the sandwiches Havoc had brought him once it became obvious that the bottomless pit was, well, still bottomless. He spoke little outside of a muttered thanks - that much, at least, hadn't changed - but his eyes, while still off-color, vibrantly skipped from face to face to sandwich, and he actually asked questions as if he truly wanted them answered.

It was like some kind of switch had been flicked on, for whatever reason, and suddenly the listless, expressionless zombie they'd come to expect had become a bona fide human being (or eating machine, whatever). Oh, the guy was definitely still a weirdo, but somehow a much more likable one - at least if the twitch of Mustang's lips was anything to go by, although the drip of sauce into the oblivious Ward's collar might have had something to do with it as well.

But overall, Ward was acting almost normal. And honestly? It was kind of bizarre.

"What about Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Ward asked, awkwardly handling another sandwich and eyeing the box of donuts (thoughtfully left by Breda and Falman the day before) calculatingly. It was like watching a powerhouse at work, Havoc thought – a hungry powerhouse, and it was just a little gross.

Havoc glanced at the General, noticed the flicker of something in his eye. "She's in East City for a skill reassessment," Mustang replied evenly.

As if what he said made any sense whatsoever, as if Hawkeye wasn't the best of the best, as if it wasn't absolutely ludicrous that anyone would think of sending _her_ for a reevaluation.

Despite the medics' best efforts, Packard had breathed his last on his way to the very hospital he'd attempted to blow up, greatly inconveniencing any higher-ups wanting to boost the military's prestige by parading around the head of a captured terrorist leader. It was a lost opportunity, and someone had to take the blame.

As the highest ranking officer on the scene, Hawkeye had been chosen as a scapegoat. It didn't help that she had confessed to shooting Packard, either, and when she insisted that she'd only shot the man in the hand, it was delicately suggested that she must have missed her target.

_Hawkeye_. The greatest markswoman – greatest marksman – of the Ishbalan war. _Missed_.

It was like a horrible joke. Some high-ranking asshole playing with them. It didn't make _sense_.

Even so, though, they didn't have much cause to worry. They had gotten off lightly. Barely a slap on the wrists. It would not take long for Hawkeye, the perfect soldier if Havoc ever met one, to prove herself.

But Ward didn't know all this about Hawkeye and the military, obviously, so when Ward simply nodded and took another sloppy bite, Havoc wasn't too surprised.

--

"Well, as... _enjoyable _as this was, I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to."

"You leaving?" Havoc directed up at his General in surprise.

He shot an amused glance at the patient making good headway finishing the donuts before standing. "Some people have more work to do than sleep and eat like a pig, unfortunately."

"Sucks for them," Ward commented, looking totally content with himself as he sat back with a sigh.

"Enjoy it while you can," Mustang returned, tone mildly rebuking. "I'll get you checked out of here before you have time to eat another sandwich."

Ward looked up. "I think I'm full," he replied sincerely.

"Really? Only three plates in?" Havoc muttered under his breath, while his superior responded, "Good, it will hold you over for work tomorrow."

At that, both Havoc and Ward stared at Mustang, whose lips weren't even twitching.

"Work?" Ward repeated, looking wary.

Roy smirked back. "Let's hope your second day isn't as eventful as the first, Mr. Ward. For _all_ our sakes."

--

As he walked away, chuckling audibly under his breath, Havoc sighed.

"Sometimes I wonder why I follow that guy," he reflected aloud, long-suffering.

"Why do you?" Ward asked bluntly, hand inching towards a donut. "If you don't want to stay, leave."

Jean laughed, imagining the scene in his head. "I doubt the General would let me do that. Not in one piece, anyway."

Ward, sight still fixed on the door, paused pensively. "I don't think so," he said slowly, seriously. "I think he would let you go if you asked him."

Jean looked at him in surprise. Ward stared evenly back.

"Er, Ward… I don't really want to leave. I was just kidding, you know. "

"Were you?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised as he cocked his head to the side. Did he really not get it? "Is this something worth kidding over?"

"Uh…" Havoc chuckled nervously. It was good that the man was finally showing enough curiosity to ask questions, he supposed, but did they have to be so weird? "Well, it's okay. We've known each other for a long time."

"So I can't say it," he nodded to himself, as if in understanding. "I see."

His eyes widened. "Uh - no- that wasn't what I meant. It was just a stupid joke, it's not like I meant it."

Ward blinked. "Why would you say something you didn't mean?"

What was he supposed to say to that? The lieutenant glanced up at the ceiling in desperation. "Ward…"

"But I…" he looked away, biting his lip and looking somehow so damn adorable that Havoc felt like pulling out his own hair in frustration. "Okay. Never mind."

Silence. Jean took the cigarette out of his mouth and just sat there for a while, staring off into the distance while Ward busied himself again with donuts.

It was quiet.

After a while, Havoc glanced over. Ward was now engrossed in some piece of paper Mustang had left behind for him (something to do with his work tomorrow) having apparently completely forgotten about the conversation. And yet somehow…

Jean looked away again. He coughed softly.

Nothing.

His left eye twitched.

Remarkable how Ward could make one feel bad without even trying. Havoc made a mental note to harness that talent for himself someday.

"I follow Mustang because I want to," he said abruptly, causing the other to glance at him. "He's a good guy. A good general. Sure, he tries to be as unlikable as he can – and yeah, sometimes he's the most irritating son of a bitch alive – but that's all for show. Mostly." He cleared his throat. "We've all been with Mustang for a long time now… and I figure there's really only one thing wrong with him, but it's also the reason we've all stayed." He absently relit the cigarette and put it back in its usual place at the corner of his mouth. "The man _cares_ too damn much."

Ward just looked at him, looking a little doubtful.

"He does," Havoc insisted. His mouth curved lopsidedly, wryly. "He'd kill me for telling you this, but uh, your getting hurt… he wasn't taking it well."

Warned frowned, eyebrow scrunching up in confusion. "Why not?"

"I think he felt guilty," he said honestly.

The frown lines deepened. "What for?"

Havoc couldn't help but feel surprised. It seemed kind of obvious. "Well, for the whole Hawkeye rescue thing I suppose."

"Why would he feel guilty for letting me help people?" Ward asked in puzzlement.

Havoc stared at the other man for a long moment, then smiled.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

* * *

Mustang liked to think of himself as laid back. Easygoing. Stoic. Concerned with the greater picture.

But for God's sake, _he was only human_.

"Enkelbert. You play with your hair _one more time_, and I will take it upon myself to set it on _fire_."

Of course, threats were considerably more effective when subject of said threat was actually listening. Falman had to nudge Ward before the latter even raised his head, blinking as his eyes got used to the light - they had previously been effectively sheltered by a veil of gray hair as he'd craned over Mustang's paperwork. The sound of the long mane rustling at each of Ward's movements was irritatingly loud in the otherwise quiet room, and had been what incited the General to finally snap.

"I'm not playing," the secretary protested. "I don't even know any games."

"You know what I mean," Mustang replied, used by now to Ward's odd way of taking things all too literally. "Control that hair of yours. It's distracting."

"It doesn't move to my command, Mustang," he said, faint irritation coloring his otherwise monotonous voice. "It's not my fault it gets everywhere."

Roy frowned as he looked again at the way the gray strands softly framed Enkelbert's face, causing the gentle-mannered man look deceivingly wild and scatterbrained. Not the kind of image he wanted in one of his subordinates. "Then cut it short. It's at a ridiculous length in any case."

…It was either really funny or somewhat sad, but that suggestion got the most reaction out of Ward that any of the present officers had seen as of yet. Ward clamped a hand onto the back of his head, eyes widening in something that might have been the distant cousin of panic. "I can't do that. It's a part of me!"

Roy raised an amused eyebrow. "That's a little vain of you, Enkelbert." He hadn't even known the secretary had a self image, let alone an attachment to the way he looked. He stored it in his head for later teasing. It was surprising, but in a way it was a bit of a relief to discover that his secretary could be flustered about _something_.

Ward looked down, clearly somewhat embarrassed. "I'm just… still new to this."

He scoffed. "New? Give me a break. By the length of that thing, you've probably been cultivating it for _decades_."

His secretary didn't answer, and settled for glaring at his desk, hands limp in his lap.

…He was _such _a softie. "I can't make you cut it, but do somethingabout it, all right?"

"Like what?"

Roy rolled his eyes and went back to work. Really, one would think the man had never heard of a scrunchie. "Surprise me."

--

The house was quiet when Elyse came home from school. After dropping her things on the living room couch she peeked into their guest's room to see whether he was home from work yet, and found the man standing in front of the mirror, holding his hair and repeating the words "stupid Mustang… " to himself as if they were a mantra he was attempting to memorize.

Curious, the girl poked her head inside. "What are you doing?"

Ward's eyes didn't stray from the mirror. He gave a long-suffering sigh, and explained to her that if he didn't return to work the next day having done something about his hair, his boss was fully prepared to use it to hang him from the ceiling.

If he had been expecting something like sympathy, however, Ward was sorely disappointed.

Elysia clapped her hands, and positively _squealed_.

--

Turns out that confiding his problems to an eight-year-old girl was not the wisest course of action, Ward reflected as he sat on his bed, said eight-year-old hovering behind him and menacingly waving a hairbrush.

"Your hair is really pretty," Elysia admired as she felt the silver mane that draped across Ward's back. She glided the brush across the silky strands in firm, gentle strokes, exhibiting a finesse that belied her years. "Why is it gray?"

"I'm really old," Ward replied, eyes closed, and Elysia laughed.

"How old?" she asked, enjoying the game.

"I dunno. Older than old."

"Older than my mom old?"

"Older than Uncle Roy old," he returned.

She let out another clear, bell-like laugh, and had she been able to see his face she might have seen the tiny turn of the lips that curved his mouth.

Elysia couldn't, however, and continued brushing him as carefully as if he were a spooked horse instead of a grown man. Somehow, the little girl had come to a certain understanding about Ward. Some way or another, she realized she had to be gentle with this skittish person, and in his presence she affected a nearly miraculous change for his sake. Although he was as much of an enigma to her now as when she had first poked him awake, she'd come to like him a lot – he was quiet but nice to her, and it was rather like having a distant older brother or an uncle living with them, she imagined.

Elysia liked that she and her mother weren't by themselves anymore. With Ward there, even as quiet and solitary as he was, the house wasn't as… empty.

She liked not being lonely. And sometimes when she looked at Ward, she thought he was thinking the same thing.

"So," she said matter-of-factly, suddenly an expert hair-stylist, "how do you want your hair? We can either put it up or braid it. What do you like better?"

"Whatever," Ward replied grimly.

Which Elysia took as an excellent incentive to try both.

Holding the comb in her mouth, the girl bunched up his hair in one small fist, and used her other hand to neatly divide it into three even sections. It was an extraordinary transformation from the mischievous, rowdy twerp to the serious artist at work, and it was a pity that no one but Ward was there to take heed. As it were, Ward noticed (if vaguely) and was grateful for Elysia's efforts to help him – though he suspected it was more for her own amusement than anything else – but her gentle ministrations were causing him to fall fast asleep, so unfortunately he couldn't appreciate it to its fullest extent.

"There!" the girl finally pronounced, causing his eyes to flutter open.

Ward stared at the mirror, turning his head from side to side.

The neat braid gave him a sophisticated, manicured look, and though for some reason he felt as if it should be looser and messier, he really did like it. It felt comfortable, familiar, and it would get his hair out of the way very effectively.

But…

"I look like a girl."

Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but he was pretty sure he wasn't one, and that could get awkward.

Elysia giggled. "No you don't. There's no way you'd ever look like a girl."

He frowned. "I'm ugly?" he asked, sounding truly curious. He didn't know much about beauty standards, so to hear that he was ugly was an interesting thought.

Her expression instantly changed into a repenting one. "No! You're very pretty, Ward. You're as pretty as Mommy."

That _was _pretty. "…So I do look like a girl?"

She looked at him, reconsidered. "Maybe we should try something else."

To Elysia's disappointment, however, Ward wasn't as amenable to ribbons, heart-shaped clips or hair bands as she thought he'd be.

* * *

He opened the door (without knocking) to find Ward already somewhat awake and staring at him like he'd brought the devil on his shoulder. Whatever Ward Enkelbert's deal was, he was very clearly _not _a morning person.

"Morning," he said, wondering whether their usual dull morning routine (that consisted of Mustang waking Ward in creative ways and dragging him to work in the middle of breakfast) was about to be broken.

Ward blinked, and the irritated expression was wiped off his face like chalk off a slate. "Good morning, Mustang."

Apparently not. Roy sighed in disappointment, then remembered. "Did you do anything about your hair?"

As if in answer, his sleepy-eyed secretary deftly gathered his hair and put it up into a ponytail.

Mustang looked at it critically. Something about it nagged at him, but he wasn't quite sure what.

...Oh well. "The ends need to be trimmed," he commented, hiding his amusement, and the mildly scandalized glare he received was a reward all its own.

* * *

A/N: I'm not giving too much away, am I?

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	28. In Which Izumi Tells It Like It Is

_Chaper 27: In Which Izumi Tells It Like It Is_

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A/N: Okay, can you say long chapter? And I mean it this time. Hopefully it will tide you guys over until the next update, whenever that will be - and it'll take a while, because from here on out I only have a couple scenes done and a few details planned out, but it's mostly uncharted territory.

Still, I felt like I had to put this all together. I would have loved to have a chapter dedicated solely to Ward and the gang's exploits at the office, but that would have been boring and a waste of a chapter, plus Al was really insistent on making a bona fide appearance after God-knows-how-many chapters, and I just couldn't say no to the guy. So expect MUCH more Al now - he'll probably be in every chapter.

And sorry about not replying to the reviews last chapters like I usually do, but it's been busy, partly from working on this godzilla of a chapter...

Hope you guys like.

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_**

_'-Oh, and there's a new guy in the office, Mustang's secretary. He's not military, but somehow he's managing to fit in fine. I think it's because he's so quiet. It's almost like he's not there, half the time, and the other half he acts… well, pretty dull most of the time, actually. He's probably the least curious person I've ever met, too, but when he does ask questions, he asks the weirdest things in the oddest ways… makes me wonder what his story is, but neither he nor Mustang is saying anything.  
_

_ In spite of that, everyone can't help but like him. He's… naive, I suppose that's one way to put it. I think we all get the sense that he needs something from us, but doesn't know what or how to ask-'_

"That's not a form," a muted voice remarked from behind him.

Kain Fury jumped in his chair, knee knocking against the underside of his desk and hands twitching as they inadvertently swept papers and a coffee mug to the floor. His heart skipped a painful beat as he helplessly watched his favorite mug's slow arc to the ground, but in a true act of divine intervention, the mug didn't break and decided to only clatter loudly against the hard tile floor.

He sighed in relief (he really liked that mug), hand pressed against his chest as his heart decided to function again.

"Sorry," Ward Enkelbert said tonelessly as he bent to pick it up.

Fury shook the surprise away – he must have been much too absorbed in his writing than is healthy if he hadn't even felt the guy peer over his shoulder - and laughed in embarrassment, knowing his cheeks were probably flushed bright red. "It's okay. I shouldn't have jumped like that."

"Okay," the secretary accepted. "Must have been important."

"Huh?" Fury was bewildered for a second before it clicked in his head, and he picked up the page he'd been writing on. "Oh, this? I was just writing a letter to my sister."

"Sister…" he repeated slowly as he stood.

"Yup," Kain grinned cheerfully, beginning to put order to things so his desk wouldn't look so much like a hazard area. "Ava Gardener. She lives in a small town west of here."

There was a pause for several seconds before Ward cocked his head to the side. "Gardener isn't your name," he remarked, wrinkling his forehead.

Fury looked up at him. "What – oh. No, Gardener was her husband's name."

"I see," he said, clearly not.

He waited a little, and, as uncharacteristic of him as it was, Kain was beginning to get a little annoyed. Most people would notice the 'was' and ask about it, or better yet, sense it was a sensitive topic and tactfully change the subject.

Ward, on the other hand, just stood there and stared at him.

Fury felt he should explain. Maybe he didn't get it. "She's a widow."

Ward put the mug on the desk. "…Ah," he let out after a second, as if it had taken him a while to remember what the word meant. "Sorry?"

That was better. "It's okay. He died a couple of years ago."

"She…" He looked hesitant. "She must be very lonely."

"Not at all," Fury replied, causing a look of surprise to glimmer briefly across Ward's face. "She's practically never alone. He left her with two kids and very little money, so when she's not spending time with her boys she works hard to keep food on the table."

"That must be tough."

"Well, she has a stable job now, at an inn, but I send her a check every payday."

Ward stood there uncomfortably for a bit, then let out a single, baffled "Why?"

"It's a difficult life. She needs whatever she can get." He closed his eyes briefly, smiled lopsidedly. "Ava resisted at first, insisted that I shouldn't bother…" his black eyes opened and stared off at the wall from behind his thick glasses, talking to himself more than Ward now. "But she's my sister. What else can I do?"

"What else can you do?" Ward asked back as he wordlessly helped rearranged the documents on Fury's desk into neat piles. For the first time since Fury'd met him, he looked intrigued.

The sergeant snapped his gaze back to him, startled to be the focus of such intent attention. "…Well, let her take care of herself, I suppose."

Ward paused mid-movement. "That wouldn't make you feel better, though."

The other man blinked. "I… no, but- but that wasn't why I was trying to help her," Kain asserted, although whether it was to Ward or himself he wasn't completely certain.

"And she only refused because she secretly wanted your help." Ward nodded to himself. "That makes sense."

Was Ward mocking him? "That's not it," he protested. "She just refused because she was being stubborn. She's too proud for her own good. I had to help her."

Ward's face was almost contemplative. "So you did the right thing, really, since she's incapable of taking care of herself."

He forced himself to reply honestly. "...Well, Ava would probably do fine on her own, to tell the truth. She doesn't need my help that badly anymore."

Ward cocked his head. "Er…then…" It was obvious he didn't understand.

"But she thinks that my being the younger brother meant that _she_ is supposed to worry about _me_, and not the other way around." He looked away, clenching his hands into fists in an uncharacteristic display of temper. "I'm allowed to worry too! I'm not a _child._"

For some reason, Ward was looking at him with the strangest, most baffled expression he's seen on him yet.

"You… worry…"

It was not quite a question.

Fury fought the sudden perplexing impulse to smile. "Of course I do. That's what family does."

His eyes stayed fixed on Fury's own, as if to judge the honesty of his answers. "And she… worries too…"

He sighed, frowning a little. "She shouldn't. Ava always writes letters to see how I do, but barely tells me anything important about herself." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "It's not an easy life, though. I can't visit too often, and every time I see my nephews I can't help but worry what would happen if… something happened…" he swallowed hard, "…and I… couldn't take care of them…"

Each time he watched the boys, grinning and playing and laughingly calling him 'Uncle Sergeant', Fury couldn't help but be reminded of another pair of brothers who had lost their mother and been all alone in the world, a pair of brothers who had laughed and smiled and been left to their own grief-filled path, everything almost systematically taken away from them until finally – finally – they were even taken away from each other.

…Kain didn't want to see it happen again. No matter what it took.

"That's a funny thing to worry about," Ward commented, startling Fury from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"It hasn't happened yet."

For a bewildered moment, Fury thought Ward had read his mind. "What…?"

Ward only shrugged. His gaze snagged on a picture frame on Fury's desk, and he picked it up, eyeing it carefully.

"That's her," Fury told him. "Ava and her sons."

The other man inspected it with an expressionless face that could have matched Mustang at his very blankest. His muddy gaze grazed carefully over the beaming faces, glanced over the bright, contented eyes and noted the held hands that hugged their mother – a short, solid woman with Fury's face - as if she was the most important thing in the world.

It was as if the ones in the photo were all alone, but at the same time, incredibly _together_ –

_'Don't you understand? We're all we've got! We're all we've **got**!' _

–

They stood like that for a bit, both staring at the photograph.

…

"No glasses," Ward observed finally, cocking his head to the side.

"No glasses," Fury agreed.

They left it at that.

* * *

It was strange, Roy reflected.

After scarcely more than a month, it was as if Ward had always been there, sitting quietly in his desk attempting to make heads or tails of Roy's paperwork. The man had much to learn, that was obvious, and was visibly thrown off by the forced interaction with so many people – it took him a while to get used to the office scene, particularly with Havoc and Breda around, loud as they were - but after barely a couple of days, it felt as if Ward had been part of their group for years. For some reason there was none of the customary drive to exclude him from what was really going on, which usually made itself known whenever a new officer was assigned to them by the higher-ups (somehow they never did last very long). With Enkelbert, though, the need for secrecy simply didn't seem to register.

Part of it was because he blended so well with the background. It had taken them a while in the beginning to even remember he was there, and there had been several times when Mustang had to make announcements to his staff and he had completely forgotten Ward's existence. He'd played it up to him being a bastard, though, and where anyone else would have been offended, Ward, being the odd person he was, took it rather well, and even seemed to think it perfectly normal - although his opinion of Mustang certainly didn't change for the better.

The notion that Ward could have hidden motives seemed ludicrous, too, and Mustang wasn't sure whether that was because he was so clueless or because he looked so fragile. It wasn't like they told him anything outright – he never asked and they weren't so naïve as to tell – but where with others they had maintained a charade of professionalism or ignorance, with Ward they simply forgot or didn't care enough to conceal.

Ward had the unusual habit of being content with anything and everything, Roy had noticed early on, which made him especially annoying. When they offered him a figurative finger, rather than eying the whole hand he would not even _see_ it, and instead sheepishly scratch his head and thank them quietly, leaving them with the peculiar sensation that they were being stingy; that perhaps they could have offered more, after all. He would never start a conversation if he could help it, either, and was much too comfortable with fading to the background, his slight figure sitting back in his armchair watching the gang banter and tease each other and all the while not letting out a single interfering word – all while helping considerably with the paperwork (which, Roy conceded, almost made up for how irritating the man was).

But for some reason, the staff refused to allow him to fade.

Everyone tried to force him out in their own way – Havoc included him in his jokes, Farman taught him card games, Breda regaled him with tales of bravado and exotics (mostly false), Riza (upon her swift return from Eastern Headquarters) offered patient answers and almost maternal cajoling, and Fury, for his part, gave Ward tips on how to avoid certain doom from overworked coworkers (crucial for maintaining mental as well as physical health). Lieutenants Ross and Broche appeared from time to time bearing orders from superiors, and they in turn treated him kindly, while their supervisor, Colonel Armstrong … well, he wasn't shy about putting on an exhibition of manly beauty for Ward's 'benefit', that's for sure.

There was a peculiar satisfaction in making Ward break from his shell, Roy admitted to himself, a feeling that was strangely rewarding. They had found out early on that sometimes a spark of something alarmingly close to a personality shone through Ward's emotionless, apathetic exterior. Intrigued, they had all wordlessly agreed to do their best to coax it out further.

They hadn't been successful at all at first, but the first time they had managed (not intentionally, much to their dismay) to elicit a small laugh from him…

One might have thought Riza had finally worn a miniskirt.

--

_It was a hot day. Obscenely hot. Unfairly hot, almost, especially since it was just the beginning of spring. _

_And as everyone knows, hot weather and hot tempers go hand in hand. That might explain some of the idiocy that followed. _

_…Not all of it, perhaps, but some._

_"-Kill."_

_"Eh?!!"_

_He glowered at Fury, who flinched. "I will kill Breda. And Farman. Possibly Broche. You if you get on my nerves."_

_He wasn't about to ask, especially not when Havoc had the mad glint in his eyes and the others were sniggering to their desks. "Erm… okay…"_

_A snicker sounded from behind the raging man, and Fury saw his superior hastily try to cover it up with a cough._

_…Too late. _

_"And you!" Havoc turned around to face the innocent-looking Mustang. "_You_ are definitely on my list! _You_ are the worst one!! How _could_ you?"_

_He straightened and plucked a stray hair off his uniform. " …Don't know what you're talking about, Lieutenant…"_

_"Oh, please. Like the fact that that _woman_ is here is any news to you -"_

_"There are quite a few women in Central, Jean. You're going to have to be more-"_

_"You know perfectly well, damn you! CLARICE!"_

_"Oh… the dog girl?"_

_"Yes, the dog girl! I can't believe you _did_ that!"_

_"…I fail to see what you're implying."_

_"Do you think I'm an idiot? Who else could have known her number? You utter _bastard_!"_

_Mustang froze, then narrowed his eyes at his Lieutenant. Jean might be a friend, but insubordination was not something Mustang was about to put up with._

_The General's expression closed off, a sure sign of danger. "Are you -"_

_There aren't too many ways to ruffle Roy Mustang's cool exterior, but a truly angry Mustang is definitely one to be avoided. If that is not possible, few ways can diffuse his genuine wrath - but they do exist. _

_Fury's, for example, was to appear as guilty and guileless as possible, maximizing the pity and disgust generated in the Colonel (it wasn't intentional, really, which made it all the more effective). Riza ignored it for the most part unless she felt it was for good reason, in which case she stood quietly and simply let Roy run out of steam - which in her presence more often than not turned out to be unsurprisingly soon. Breda and Farman, unequipped to handle an unstable state alchemist and rather fond of not burning to death, made it a general principle to avoid their superior in a bad mood. And usually Havoc was the same, with perhaps a little sarcastic side-comment to 'help' the atmosphere._

_This time, however, it was different. _

_Havoc _exploded_. _

_"Of _course_ I am! She made me let her live at my place - her little monsters too! No, she couldn't leave _all _of them in Xenotime, because that's just too heartless, and why am I even asking? All of them can fit, my tiny apartment is certainly big enough!" He glared. "She took over my phone! _They_ took over the kitchen! Oh, and as if that wasn't enough - she took over the bed! _My _bed! Not that I could sleep anyway, knowing that those _things _are in town, let alone my _house_, but-"_

_It is also well known that for some reason, General Mustang acts favorably toward those with unstable temperaments who manage to counter his fury with their own righteous anger. However, this is a course rarely taken. First of all, it is hardly professional behavior - perhaps one unmindful of military protocol can react defensively with no fear of consequences, but a trained soldier would rarely talk back to a superior officer, even one they consider a friend, as talking back (let alone shouting back) would result in a serious demotion at the very least. Second, the chance of success – of successfully deflecting the Flame Alchemy's wrath – is minimal, at best. _

_…Thirdly, it's suicidal._

_Luckily enough for First Lieutenant Jean Marj Havoc, however, in this particular instant he was only just unstable enough to pull it off._

_Mustang, startled out of his anger, let out a surprised "What?"_

_ "Well, what was I _supposed_ to do?! She had a gun! Who the hell had the bright idea of giving that woman a _gun?_!!!"_

_He stared, speechless, (Fury and the others privately sighed in relief) then smirked. "Well. Just desserts, wouldn't you say?" he drawled. "It was a simple matter of calling her up and inviting her over for a night on the town, really. To tell the truth, she doesn't seem all that attached to you, Lieutenant."_

_"Simple?" Havoc spluttered, still indignant enough over that point to ignore the rest of what the general was saying, which was probably fortunate._

_ "Well, yes. She did make a point of giving me her phone number, after all."_

_The blonde man stared._

_"Oh come now, Havoc. After all the hassle you put me through in Xenotime, it was only fair. And I have to say that your taste is not as bad as I'd originally thought – she's quite pleasant when not on a homicidal rampage."_

_There was the sound of a door opening and closing. Breda, Farman and Fury quickly looked for a place to hide._

_He gave a sort of pitiful whimper and sat down hard on the sofa, putting his face in his hands. "But- but- General, she's in my _bed!"

_Mustang looked down at him unsympathetically, folding his arms. "Then be a man and kick her out of it," he advised._

_Havoc growled savagely into his hands and looked up. "She's a bloody _woman_, how can I_ -_"_

_"Not my problem."_

_The lieutenant looked about ready to strangle his superior officer. "Maybe I'll _make _it your-" _

_Suddenly, they threw themselves on the ground, temporarily deaf, both somehow very sure that they'd only just escaped certain death._

_…But why? _

_"General Mustang, Lieutenant Havoc," Major Hawkeye greeted shortly. "I suggest you both get off the floor, start doing what you're paid to do, and keep your personal lives _out _of the office."_

_"But Riza -"_

_"Major -"_

_She calmly cocked her pistol again. "_Now_."_

_They jumped up. _

_Riza dropped the two rather massive piles of paperwork she had been holding in one arm on the desk next to her. Incidentally, it was Fury's. "You both have work to do."_

_"Sure. Just let me decapitate Breda -" _

_"Once I've had some coffee-"_

_The Major raised the firearm casually in their general direction. "I have four bullets left," she informed them. "That's two for each of you. Don't make me decide which body parts you'll be better off without."_

_ They stepped back hastily. _

_"Never mind, now's good -"_

_"I'll have it later -"_

_They shut up as they heard a soft chuckle. _

_"Heh."_

_It was a foreign noise, one they couldn't quite place. _

_"Hehe…"_

_They froze in place, then turned around in tandem to locate the source of the sound. _

_There was Ward, in his usual spot behind his desk, one hand holding a pen, the other one holding his head up. But…_

_They cocked their heads as one. Something was different._

_And then it hit them. Ward was laughing - and at them, no less. _

_…Ward was laughing? _

_The secretary covered his mouth, and judging from the dismayed wrinkle on his forehead, apparently attempting to restrain himself._

_It wasn't a very good effort._

_"Hahaha…"_

_Even laughing, there was barely a smile on his lips, as if the action was still too involuntary to truly be carefree. But he was nonetheless chuckling, and so this minute fact can probably be overlooked in terms of the greater context._

_Ward was _laughing.

_And he was earnestly trying to stop. "Hah…Sorry…hehe…um… ha…sorry, I just… it…heh…" _

_…_

_They continued to stare. It was just so _odd,_ seeing Ward exhibiting pure, unadulterated emotion. They'd gotten used to that blank expression, and to see it suddenly fall away was, to say the least, disconcerting._

_The laughter faded and Ward looked away, suddenly looking a little aggravated. "You'd think they never had someone laugh at them before," he grumbled sullenly to himself. "…Bastards." _

_His aberrant grouching was really rather endearing, too, as was the out-of-place (but somehow wholly appropriate) scowl on his face, they thought bewilderedly – and apparently the thought was quite visible on their faces, for Ward flushed deeply and quickly looked away. _

_"You can stop staring now…" he mumbled, embarrassed out of his laughter completely._

_And to see that the apathy they were used to still hadn't returned, to see that suddenly, the efforts they had made to reach him were beginning to pay off… there was immeasurable satisfaction in that, somehow. To have seen that involuntary laugh light up that face – light up almost literally, something about the angles and planes of his face and the way light struck them had made him look to be a completely different person – it was… somehow…_

_They wanted to see that again._

_Havoc snapped to action and grinned, clapping a hand on Ward's back. "Good to see you're human like the rest of us, boss."_

_"Shut up," he mumbled back._

_Havoc laughed. "Only a month, and he's giving orders already! Military's rubbing off on you, I see." He looked at Mustang, eyes twinkling both in triumph and a kind of apology. "Or maybe you've been hanging out too much with this guy, eh?"_

_"Back to work, Lieutenant," Mustang pretended to glare, not allowing his lips to quirk into a smile. _

_...He'll let it go. This time._

_

* * *

_Izumi Curtis had been busy cutting vegetables when her apprentice characteristically barged through the door yelling at the top of his lungs. His voice was high and excited, sort of like how at thirteen he had discovered he'd surpassed his teacher in height and was tall enough to touch the top of Sig's head without standing on his toes, and she couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit of consternation as she wondered exasperatedly something along the lines of 'what _now?_'

It took awhile for Alphonse to calm down enough to be coherent, and by that time the feeling had escalated to a full-blown wariness. "Teacher, I need you to tell me what you know about the Gate. I want to go to Central," he rapid-fired determinedly and confidently, as if the two sentences he'd seemingly randomly strung together made complete and total sense. Then, suddenly remembering his manners, he blushed and quickly put in, "Morning, Teacher. How are you?"

The sound of chopping stopped abruptly, then continued on as if nothing happened. "How do you know about it?" she asked stoically, ignoring the meaningless greeting.

Al faltered, confused. "Central?"

His teacher expertly threw cucumber peelings in the trash.

"The Gate," she clarified curtly.

He wrung his hands, not understanding why she wasn't even looking at him. "I… I'm starting to remember… just a little…" he paused, still in awe of that fact. He had been so afraid that it'd be forever, that everything was well and truly gone, but he was remembering – it _must_ be that he was remembering. "Ed was talking with someone about opening a gate with his alchemy… and I wanted to know what it meant."

_Chop_. "The Gate is something better left alone." _Chop._

"I need to know."

She didn't answer him, though she didn't argue. "Get some squash from the fridge."

"Teacher…" he started protesting.

Izumi swiveled her head.

"_Get it._"

Al almost yelped, eyes impossibly large, "Okay!"

She turned back to chopping.

Al was a determined young boy, however. Despite his gentle temperament, he could be as mulish as Winry on a bad day if there was something he wanted badly enough. So even though he did comply (and got out a tomato too while he was at it), he refused to just let it go.

"Teacher, I need to _know_."

"You can forget it. Knowing about it won't do you any favors," she snapped curtly, the barest hint of anger flushing her pale face an unpleasant pink.

The cursed Gate was more trouble than it was worth. It sure hadn't done _her_ any favors.

Nor… "Ed would tell you the same."

_Chop. _God, if Edward knew Al was asking about it, if he knew Al even _knew_ about it, now that his memories were gone and he had no reason to deal with the wretched thing… well. All in all, it was probably good for all those concerned that he didn't – wouldn't. It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that Edward would have preferred his brother to be happily ignorant of the creature that took his life. Just like Ed, Alphonse had the tendency to get… ideas, and even if Al did have a more sensible head on his shoulders, the typical Elric stubbornness and determination got in the way of it often enough that common sense wasn't always a safe bet.

Shit, Edward would have been _furious_ with her. Because however careless her late apprentice could be with his own life, when it came to Alphonse no precaution could be too small, unimportant or paranoid.

And at this instance, she wouldn't have blamed him.

…But, sometimes those we wish to protect will not let themselves be protected.

This was one of those times.

"No! I _do _need to know what it is, because… because I think…" he swallowed hard, "because I think Brothermightbe_ inside_!"

The knife fell to the floor.

Izumi bent to pick it up, still not looking at him.

_Shit._

"…Teacher?"

She pointed the knife at a chair. "Sit," she ordered, stone-faced.

Once he did so, she leaned back on the counter, knife still in her hand as she folded her arms and finally looked at him impassively. Her eyes were hard as flint, and even more inscrutable.

"Talk."

"Um…" He should be used to this, Izumi's way of forcing him to put all the cards down on the table and say aloud all his thoughts so that she could, rapidly yet methodically, shoot all of them down - but he wasn't. Practice didn't make it any easier.

…Or that face any less frightening.

Still, he tried. It was the first time in a long while that they really talked about Brother – his teacher had a knack for changing the subject or sending him on tedious little errands – and now that he finally had a legitimate theory, an actual starting point, he couldn't simply give up without a fight.

Al had always known something was missing. When he had first woken up, he'd believed Ed had left him to go… _somewhere_. Al hadn't been quite sure where, but as long as he believed his brother was alive, nothing mattered except the task of finding him. Maybe everyone else thought Edward was…gone – but _he _knew better. Alchemy, equivalent exchange – none of it could keep his brother away.

It was somewhat of a ridiculous expectation, really, since the Ed Alphonse remembered was only eleven, and hardly formidable at that (though whenever anyone offered him milk he came close), but somehow, Al just _knew_. Perhaps the memory of the tenacity in his brother's eyes, or the stubbornness he would show at school had something to do with it, or maybe he really did remember more than he thought he did, just like Pinako kept telling him.

But even as he traveled all over Amestris retracing his brother's footsteps, even as he asked Teacher to teach him alchemy all over again… Alphonse knew there was more to the story than met the eye. His brother was a genius, he wouldn't have tried anything unless the array was _perfect_ – not unless he'd known for a fact that Al would get his body back. Which without the Stone, let's face it – he couldn't have done.

Also – and Alphonse tried very hard to believe this – it wouldn't have made _sense_ for Edward to sacrifice himself, because there would have been no guarantee that the sacrifice would work. In that scenario, if it didn't, if Ed failed… that would be it. The quest would be over, and Alphonse would have been trapped – for life. And even remembering as little of his brother as he did, Alphonse knew Edward was smart enough to figure that out. Edward would – _could_ never have risked the chance of that happening.

So the only conclusion left was that he was missing something. Something important, and not just the damn memories, either.

He'd had no clue what it was until, late one night, he'd pored over the last of Brother's encoded journals for the twentieth time, exhausted and desperate and ready to give up on them being of any use. But then his eyes caught on something they hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it was a page he'd missed, a line he'd unintentionally skipped over… but whatever the cause, Al had finally found it.

Mentions of a Gate.

There was no explanation, no corresponding diagrams, just two mentions that seemed to have no correlation to the journal entry whatsoever, as if Ed had been so thrilled about something that he just _had_ to write about it, yet at the same time adamantly refused to give any information as to why he might be so excited. But somehow, Alphonse knew he'd found his first clue.

Now all that was left was to find out everything he could.

And so, after a year spent going back in time and following his brother's footsteps across Amestris, Alphonse returned to the starting point to find the person most likely to know the answers – his teacher.

He braced himself. "Maybe Brother didn't leave, didn't… didn't die. Maybe he just… _disappeared_. Winry… she said that Brother kept muttering about a Gate when he thought she wasn't listening… I don't know. I think I can learn more in Central, about everything – all the memories I see or dream about seem to be from there, and they must have records of the books Brother loaned from the library. But still, the Gate… I think the Trade might have stuck Ed inside it."

His teacher looked at him strangely.

_Al…_

"Teacher..?"

She didn't reply, but looked him over carefully. For someone who wanted to learn about the Gate and professed to know nothing about it, it sounded as if Alphonse knew quite a bit already. _His memories… _they must have subconsciously compensated for his lack of knowledge. They did have a tendency to pop up in unexpected ways.

…And he was thorough, she'd grant him that.

"A correctly performed equation does not make one 'stuck' at the Gate, Alphonse," she said finally.

"But it was a human transmutation," he countered immediately. "It's never been truly successful until Brother did it, so we don't know exactly what a successful attempt could involve. Anything could have happened. Besides, my body was at the Gate - why shouldn't his be?"

She raised an eyebrow at that. _Subconsciously compensated, indeed. _"Yours was there as a result of a rebound," she said, deciding not to comment at his sudden expertise. It was more important to nip whatever this was in the bud. "His transmutation worked, so it isn't."

"We don't know that for sure."

"You're here with me, aren't you? I'd say it worked."

"But not completely, Teacher. I don't have my memories."

"How are you to know they weren't part of the price?"

"Because. It doesn't make sense."

"Why not?" she asked, curious.

He politely looked at her as if she was crazy. "Memories are subjective. We don't even know how the brain stores them. It's much more likely that my memories are blocked from me because of the trauma of the transmutation, or because my body and brain didn't grow while I had those experiences. Unless the Gate is somehow an all-powerful and all-knowing vindictive person who _wanted _me to forget everything – which I sincerely doubt – my memory problem is probably an unwanted side-effect."

She'd always known Al was brilliant. It was a flawless conjecture.

For someone who had never met Truth, that is.

"Al," she sighed, steering away from the subject slightly – she couldn't counter that reasoning without explaining about the Gate, which was what she was trying to avoid in the first place, "that's all well and good, but human transmutation is still an exchange, and you still haven't come up with a reason for him to be 'stuck'inside."

"It would be a lot easier if you told me about the Gate," Al pointed out.

"Nice try," she said, tone clearly indicating that it was, indeed, _not_.

Al sighed. "Maybe it is an exchange – although we still don't know for sure what the exchange involved – but it's of a different kind. Its subject matter means that human transmutation is much more complex than regular transmutations."

"Doesn't matter. It should have the same result."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "It does matter! It involves living tissue - it's a completely different type of Exchange!"

"Makes no difference."

"Does too!"

She exhaled slowly, not about to let the conversation deteriorate into a childish shouting match, even if it did get her out of talking about Truth. "Alphonse…"

"It's _different_!" the kid protested. "Conceivably, it could -"

"Al."

"- _It could_ change the results, have a different effect -"

"_Al_."

"-the components aren't even the same, and -"

"_AL__!_"

He stopped, irritated. "What?!"

"Edward is _dead_!"

Al whitened. A small "…Huh?" escaped his lips.

She carefully placed the knife on the counter before looking back across at him.

Izumi Curtis had always recognized the value of eye contact. You had to look a person in the eye to get their attention, you had to look a person in the eye to make them believe you… and you had to look them in the eye to make them face the truth. It was simultaneously the rudest and yet kindest gesture you could do – rude because you're brutally forcing them to understand, kind because you're not letting them raise hopes and delusions that would inevitably collapse on top of them.

…It was the best thing for Al, now. She couldn't afford to be soft on him.

_He_ couldn't afford it.

She was surprised that no one had gone over this with him before – just goes to show how adept the boys were at hiding things from her. Just like the first time, when she thought she'd warned them away from human transmutation…

Izumi shook her head silently. All along she had thought Al knew about Ed, that death was the inevitable, constant result of the Trade. When he'd left her house to follow the path he'd forgotten, she thought (she was told) it was so he could feel more connected to Edward, see what his brother did and meet people who could tell Al about him. But to find the boy for some reason had hope all along…

…It was too cruel.

"Alphonse," she began gently. "Your brother was a genius – I'll be the first to attest to that. But what he performed was still alchemy, and alchemy still has rules that cannot be bent."

Izumi kneeled on one knee in front of Alphonse, hands on the armrests effectively trapping the boy in the chair as she held his wide, horrified eyes with her gaze.

"I'll admit," she went on, "I don't know what array Ed used to bring you back. I don't know how _many_ he used, for that matter, if there was more than one. I have no idea what ingredients he gathered for the transmutation; I'm not sure what he drew the array on_,_ let alone what he drew it _with_. I don't even know if it mattered.

"…I _do_ know, however, that Edward made an Exchange. And Al, when an Equivalent Exchange is completed without a rebound, there is no reason for _anything_ to be left at the Gate."

"But -"

"More importantly," she went on, still in that unbearably kind voice, "I know exactly what Edward Exchanged. And I know that just because you lost your memories doesn't mean you don't know it as well as I do, Alphonse."

Al suddenly had a really, _really_ strong urge to bolt out the door. All of a sudden the conversation with Izumi seemed like an incredibly bad idea, and he squirmed in his chair, eyes taking in how her position trapped him and trying to calculate the chances of somehow leaping over her head and running out without being followed and dragged back by his ear.

…He didn't want to listen anymore.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" he whispered, seeing no way out, desperately needing _not to know._.

It was one thing hearing Pinako delicately hint about it, Winry clumsily avoid it. To hear it straight from someone who knew what she was talking about – someone who actually _knew _about alchemy and Equivalent Exchange…

No. _No_.

Forget curiosity. Forget the emptiness. Forget the hole in his heart – so long as Al didn't know, didn't truly _know_, he could go on - _would_ go on just fine!

Just… fine.

Thin white arms enveloped his rigid frame as she spoke softly in his ear. "He Exchanged _himself_, Alphonse. He Exchanged himself – body, mind and soul – for you."

Al's heart stopped.

_Exchanged… himself? _

"No matter what you do... how hard you try… nothing will make him come back. I'm sorry…. so sorry, Al, but Edward's _gone_."

He had refused to listen, ignored the hints, disregarded the bits and pieces they'd dropped in casual conversation without knowing he was listening in, but had Ed… had he really?

…_Really_ really…?

"I know, more than anyone, just how much your brother wanted you to return to normal. I always saw it in his face - his determination… his love for you… his reluctance to leave anything to chance. He was afraid… deathly afraid, Al… that he might fail, that the time bomb on your armor would suddenly detonate before he could find the Stone. And Ed couldn't take the risk that you'd disappear on him, Alphonse - that would have killedhim."

If he had had his memories, Al might have been struck speechless at his teacher's apparently omniscient knowledge – not many people could see past Ed's cheerful, obstinate character, for one, and the time bomb theory wasn't exactly common information either, after all. (Only Pinako had known for certain, and perhaps Edward had told Mustang of it at one time or another, but it wasn't a sure thing so far as Al had known)

As it was, however, Al _didn't_ remember, and in fact was already having quite a hard time stomaching everything else, so such trivial details probably would not have occurred to him anyway. The boy was instead rather busy trying to swallow the fact that his brother could never come back to him, rather stuck on the idea that there might be _nothing he could do_.

_Himself…?_ The thought echoed in his head.

"He had a deadline, and he couldn't even know what it was. The Philosopher's Stone you two chased for so long… I guess you boys never found it. Time was ticking… and he must have decided that he couldn't wait any longer."

_Himself…_

"No one knew more about the Gate than Edward, Al, not even me. He must have bargained himself for your body – I don't know how, because the Gate is impossibly stubborn and heartless - but he _must_ have managed it, Al, because the one sitting in front of me -"

_…For…_

"- is you. You, Al."

The word echoed dully in his head. "…Me?"

She drew him closer to her, well aware of the stunned tears slowly running their trail down the boy's cheeks. He didn't even seem to be aware he was crying.

_…But… it isn't… it's not…_

_...But it's _not **fair**_._

"Me?" he repeated brokenly into her shoulder.

_No, it's not **fair**! It's not equivalent – it's not even _**close**_ to equivalent!_

No one would ever dare accuse Izumi Curtis of crying, but her eyes were suspiciously damp.

"You," she affirmed softly, tightening her grip. "And he'd never regret it being so."

* * *

_He…_

_Can't I…? No…_

_Stop…?_

_No…of course not, but…_

_Where do I go from here?_

Days later, Al was still walking in a sort of daze - not knowing where he was walking or what he was doing, walking into walls, tripping over chairs, burning the water meant for coffee (literally – he was an Elric, after all)…

And yet, somehow, not particularly _caring,_ either.

_How _could_ he?_

There was only one thing that clearly resounded in his mind:

_That _jerk_. That complete and utter **jerk. **_

_Brother, you _**bastard**_. _

Which might explain why it took such a phenomenally long time for him to comprehend what two tickets were doing on the kitchen table.

He looked over to his teacher, who was currently reading at the aforementioned table.

"Teacher? What's this?"

She raised her head and glanced in the direction he was looking at before again disappearing behind the newspaper. "Train tickets."

Al didn't roll his eyes, but only because he wasn't really in the mood. Otherwise he would have cheerfully made a show of it. "I _know_, but why?"

"Because that's the fastest way to Central," Izumi replied.

He looked at Sig, then back to Izumi. "…You're going to Central?"

The two peered at him, and Izumi put away her paper with a sigh. Damn, but he was slow today.

"Why are you going?"

She glared in her usual manner, resting her chin on the back of her hands. "Actually, _we_ will be going to Central. As in you and I."

His eyes widened. "We?"

Sig grunted. Adamantly

"They have a library there," Izumi spoke nonchalantly, observing his face for a reaction, "full of journals and non-confidential reports and what have you about officers and national alchemists, not to mention the officers and national alchemists themselves, who I'm sure would be willing to answer any questions the brother of a fellow national alchemist might have." She paused. "I think it's long past time we went and said hello, don't you?"

And slowly, but for the first time in a week, Alphonse smiled.

* * *

_A/N: _ It's been a while since I've written Alphonse, let alone Izumi, so I'm really hoping I've still got it. My favorite image in this chap is Izumi pointing at the chair with a knife - such barely-concealed-not-really violence.

Please review, if only so I know people are still reading this. Oh, and the same rules still apply - whoever gets me to 400 reviews gets a one-shot in their honor! Everyone wins! :)


	29. In Which Nothing Is Set On Fire

**_Chapter 28: In Which Nothing Is Set On Fire (Unfortunately)  
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_A/N: Thank you, Keahi Spitfire, for reminding me that people still care about this story. I'm sorry I didn't reply to you with a message, but I figured a new chapter will be more welcomed. You really motivated me to get this out as soon as I can.  
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_Everyone, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. For one, it's kind of despairing to look back at what I'd written and realize it was for the most part total crap (I'll try to rewrite and revise more of it, but there's a limit on how much I get to fix things), and also, I'm not as in love with the series as when I started this fic, although the manga is still my favorite. I'm trying to get re-inspired by the new series, really, but it hasn't been very good yet (sorta like a cramming of the first ten or so episodes of the original anime). Or maybe it's because it hasn't been dubbed yet, I don't know. I do want to finish this story someday, though. And I can pretty much promise that you won't have to wait another year for the next chapter. _

_Just so you guys know, though, if I ever decide to give up - and I hope not - I have decided to put up all the scenes and write about all the plot points I wanted to touch upon in this story, so that you guys will __at least__ have some closure, and won't be left off hanging forever._

_For now, though, please enjoy.  
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_"Sir."_

_"I hear you're going on a security checkup to Xenotime, Lieutenant-General."_

_His left eye twitched. Hear? The man had been the one to _issue_ the order. "That is so, Furher."_

_Furher King Bradley smiled genially. "There's a small favor I would like you do for me while you're there, if you would."_

_He felt his brows furrow and immediately smoothed them down to the usual complacent degree. "Like what?" After a moment, he added, "Sir."_

_His superior laughed and beamed. "It's nothing troublesome, Mustang, I promise. I would just like you to report directly to me if you happen to come across anything unusual or out of the ordinary."_

_"Unusual, sir?" he echoed._

_"Yes. No matter how miniscule or unimportant it may seem."_

_Roy__ debated whether asking why was within his job description, but the glint in the Furher's eyes told him not to bank on it.._

_"Well, Mustang?"_

_He sighed inwardly. "Of course, sir."

* * *

_

"Now now, no need to get up. I'm just in for a moment."

"Glad to have you back in Central, sir," Hawkeye replied, realizing Mustang wasn't saying anything.

The Furher nodded and smiled at all of them genially, before his eyes suddenly stopped at Ward. "And who is this?"

"Ward Enkelbert, sir," Mustang replied. "My secretary."

The smile was slow in coming, but when he spoke it was clear and audible in his voice. "Ah. Welcome to the fold, Mr. Enkelbert." He then turned to Mustang, though his gaze was still settled on Ward, "A word with you, General."

"I would be honored to provide you with my office, sir," he replied, saluting. The others looked at him curiously.

He could only offer them a clueless shrug as he walked after Bradley.

When Roy entered the room the Furher had already sat down at his chair, leaning back comfortably and his fingers entwined in his lap. The appropriation of Roy's leather chair did not sit well with Roy, but he comforted himself with the thought that once he became Furher he could have as many leather chairs of his own as he wanted.

"I like to think that there is a certain trust between my men and I," Bradley began, somewhat idly. "I've watched you rise through the ranks throughout the years, General Mustang. You would not have been able to do so had I not allowed it."

The arrogant words were said as casually as one commenting on the weather, and Mustang swallowed a shiver - this, _this _was power.

Power that he will obtain himself, someday.

"That means I feel we can communicate. You can tell me if there is anything you need, and trust that I will listen. In return, if there is any information that is relevant or important, I trust you to brief me about it."

"I understand," Mustang said, with barely concealed impatience. Powerful or not, the man was a windbag, he really was.

The most powerful man in Amestris leaned forward slightly and rested his elbows on the desk. "Do you remember the little talk we had before you left Central?"

"I do."

"Now think well, General. Is there anything you'd like to report to me?"

He smoothed over his frown almost as soon as it reached his face. "Nothing, sir. Aside from a failed attempt at a transmutation using human remains – the matter of which I've briefed you already, sir, in my status report – there was nothing worth noting."

"You are sure about that? There wasn't anything?"

He thought it interesting that the Furher did not consider the Tringham murder to be an 'unusual occurrence'. "I did receive a report a few weeks ago of bodies being recovered from Xenotime's sewers. They were identified as Perry Jeffries' wife and children." The wife was named Marie, he remembered, and had been one of the few women to dislike Roy on sight. It had made for a rather stilted and awkward dinner conversation at the time, but Perry and Hughes had found the entire thing utterly hilarious.

...Of course, that was before the war. After Ishbal, Perry had left the military and, as far as Mustang knew, never talked to another soldier ever again.

Another comrade, lost to disillusion.

Bradley raised an eyebrow. "The Binder Alchemist?"

"Yes, sir. He's nowhere to be found."

"Interesting," he murmured thoughtfully. "Circulate Jeffries' description to all our bases, make sure they all know what he looks like. Give them standing orders to bring him in if found – we may have a killer on our hands."

"I'll get on it immediately," Mustang said, keeping his face carefully blank. For all his silence over the years, Jeffries had been a friend, and arresting the poor man for the deaths of his family did not sit well with him. Particularly as it was far more likely that someone else was responsible.

Amestris' Furher changed tactics, perhaps sensing Mustang's displeasure. "Anything else from Xenotime worth reporting?"

This was getting to be irritating. "Aside from an officer's newfound dislike of dogs, I would say absolutely nothing, sir."

The man didn't smile, but appeared to be satisfied. "And why have you not told me about this secretary of yours, Mustang?"

The latter's eyes narrowed unconsciously. "My apologies, sir," he bit out, reminding himself in Riza's place to keep a civil tongue, " but I wasn't aware my staff was a matter of significance to a busy man like the Furher."

"I like to know who my men are," Bradley answered seriously. "Even if it seems a light matter, it is imperative that a record is made of all soldiers on military property."

He decided it would be unwise to protest that the secretary was, in fact, already listed in the military archives. "Enkelbert is a civilian," he said instead.

The man's expression hardened, although interestingly he sounded as though he'd expected the fact. "A civilian? You allow a civilian to gain access to military records?"

He went over to his filing cabinet and extracted Ward's file, handing it to his superior. "Mr. Enkelbert can be trusted, sir. He was of valuable help during the Packard ordeal."

A wrinkle appeared between Bradley's brows as he perused the thin file. He said distractedly, "Yes, I… heard about that incident. Truly commendable. Where did you find such a remarkable man, pray tell?"

"I took him under the recommendation of Lieutenant General Grumman," Mustang said, neatly sidestepping the subject.

The Furher smiled absently as he thumbed the pages. "You mean he gave you permission to do as you please."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "He acknowledged that I had the right to hire a civilian I would be comfortable with, and recognized that it would be a waste giving a trained soldier the job of performing menial tasks. I imagine that you yourself have a civilian secretary."

"I do not, in fact," Bradley replied after several moments of quiet examination. He handed the folder back to Mustang. "In the future, I would like to be made aware of any appointments you make, civilian or otherwise."

In the back of his mind, Roy made a note to investigate King Bradley's sudden paranoia – or personal interest in his office, whichever it might turn out to be – later. Farman should have learned something from Hughes, he thought, after spending so long in his service. "Very well, sir."

Furher King Bradley merely nodded, and as he swept out of the room, the most powerful man in Amestris had neither the usual smile nor cheery expression gracing his visage.

…But somehow, Mustang had the impression that the man was very grimly satisfied indeed.

* * *

"He's coming. Here."

Riza tilted her head to the side. "Who?" she asked, wondering what could have made her General sound so… strange.

He looked back to the paper. "Alphonse Elric." Mustang's way of pronouncing the name was careful, toneless. "And that teacher of theirs. His. Curtis."

"Oh," she said, startled. "That's the first time in… in a while."

He nodded tersely. "First time since he left for Rizenbul," he replied. Riza's general blew out a sigh and shook his head, forcibly relaxing. "But that's a good thing," he murmured to himself.

She looked at him, and couldn't help but wonder if it really was.

Mustang had visited every day Al had been conscious in the hospital, alternately checking up on and pestering the younger Elric brother. Later, the General had kept close tabs on him, sending the occasional book and birthday card, ensuring he stayed out of trouble, and attempting to maintain a distant yet constant presence in the boy's life.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, however, Alphonse hadn't reciprocated as much as the General and his unit might have hoped. Certainly, after his stay at Central General Al (the little dear) had thanked Mustang over the phone and sent letters to let them know how he was doing, but they were infrequent, sporadic, and not at all that satisfying after the tenth reading.

It was understandable, really – the fourteen-year-old considered them strangers, whereas they knew him as well as anyone could. Not even a boy as kind-hearted as Alphonse would feel comfortable in that situation, which for him might well feel weird - if not downright creepy.

…It still hurt, though.

And now he was coming here. "Do you think he remembers?" she breathed, and maybe it was hope that hushed her voice, maybe dread.

"I doubt it," he replied honestly, just as quietly. "He probably just wants to know more about Fullmetal. It's past time, really. I'm surprised it took him this long."

For a long moment they remained where they were, remembering, but she had to break it. Because if she didn't ask, he'd never tell. "Will you give it to him? Ed's letter?"

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose and then leaned back in his chair, arms falling slack by his sides, and for a moment his expression so twisted and agonized that she wished with everything she had that there was a way she could take the words back.

Her hand hesitantly moved to touch his shoulder, but before she could there was the sound of footsteps outside the door.

"General?"

A colorless set of eyes flashed around the almost-closed door before it was awkwardly pushed open with a foot. Soon after Ward came in, holding in his arms a stack of papers that was intimidating in size and fairly dwarfing his slight figure. As he stood in the doorway awkwardly, he tightened his arms around the stack, registering the chilliness of the room.

His eyes went to the pile of files in his arms, and they watched as Ward cocked his head, as if considering an idea, before nodding to himself and glancing up at them. "They would burn nicely," he remarked, almost suggestively, and there was really no doubt at all in their minds that Ward was being serious. "I could ask to borrow Havoc's matches."

And for some reason, that little comment, said in that grim deadpan, seemed to be the funniest thing they heard that day. Just like that, the tension seemed to disperse from the room, almost as if it had never been.

Retracting her hand, Riza actually let out a quiet laugh, and even Mustang (eyes still screwed shut) cracked a small smirk.

"Alas, that would be slightly irresponsible of me," he replied, albeit wistfully. "Dump them on the desk."

"Hn," he grunted as he moved to do so. The table groaned under the sudden weight, but (rather luckily, Mustang thought) still held. Ward straightened, wincing a little as a couple of his vertebrae protested, and for the first time noticed the glum mood in the air that had little to do with the freezing temperature. "Who died?"

They froze, then looked at him, Mustang opening his eyes and Riza raising her head from arranging the files in order. With anyone else, the question might have sounded blithe, perhaps even teasing, but Ward's ability to understand colloquialisms was unpredictable at best, and often had a rather disquieting effect – the way he spoke just now, it was rather like he was expecting them to give them a name and serial number. Put together with his unmoved expression and his disaffected tone, this was the bizarreness of Ward in a nutshell; extremely bothered by some things while incredibly (disturbingly) casual about others, and one could never know what would trigger which outcome.

He noticed the change – if nothing else, he had come a long way in two months – and met their eyes with a shrug. "You two look so cheerful," he said, by way of explaining.

Beat.

"Nothing bad," Hawkeye finally replied. "Actually," she said, slowly, "it's a good thing."

Ward cocked his head. That didn't explain the graveyard faces, he thought, and Riza's words sounded almost painful, but maybe he was just misinterpreting things again. "That's… good." He shrugged – he wasn't about to ask – and made to leave.

"Alphonse Elric is coming to Central," Roy said suddenly.

Hawkeye stole a glance at him.

This was another oddity about Ward, one Riza'd noticed over the past few months and wasn't sure even the General was aware of. Sometimes, without prompting, Ward could coax out information that would have stayed secret had it been anyone else. She wasn't sure how it worked, exactly; the staff told him things and didn't know whether it was because he was so damn blank they wanted to provoke a reaction, or because it was because they could _count_ on him being so damn blank and not care, or even because it was so much easier to just say it and not bother dancing around the subject.

…But the remarkable thing in all this was, he didn't even _try_. To tell the truth, Riza was pretty sure Ward himself wasn't aware of this phenomenon. And that, to be honest, was the only reason she let it go on.

"Um, okay." He stood there uncertainly, and when a few seconds of silence passed he started walking away brusquely, as if to circumvent any attempt to stop him again, when a sudden thought came to Riza.

"Do you know who he is?" she asked abruptly, just as his fingers made it to the door handle. She was a little annoyed with herself for falling into Ward's… whatever it was ('charms' was definitely not the right word), but honestly? She was curious. Wherever he had lived before stopping in Central, it didn't seem to be very up to date with the rest of Amestris.

And yet legends were legends, heroes were heroes, and the Elric brothers definitely were both.

With the slightest hint of irritation on his features, Ward stopped and turned to face them, clearly not understanding what they were going on about. "Alphonse Elric?" he repeated, and Mustang nodded slightly. "...No, no idea."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you curious?"

For the first time, Ward seemed to hesitate. "I should be… shouldn't I?" they heard him mutter to himself. He raised his eyes and appeared resigned to a prolonged stay in the room. "Um, okay. Sure."

Roy thought briefly. "Well, it's more likely you've heard of his brother, Edward Elric."

"Never heard of him," he readily replied.

"…The late Fullmetal Alchemist."

His face suddenly scrunched up, and his head tilted to one side. "That seems… strange…" he said slowly, and Roy was suddenly reminded of when he'd first met him in the hospital, how he dwelled over Roy's name. He looked almost conflicted. "But I don't…" Ward stopped, and frowned. "…'Late'?"

"Dead," Riza clarified.

His expression cleared, as if that answer was enough cause to stop thinking about it. "Oh. How's that?" he asked, questions coming easier.

Neither of them looked away, though Mustang's face tightened a bit. And Riza understood - they couldn't let the Elrics' secret be exposed.

Not even for Ward.

"Doesn't matter," Mustang replied at last, eyes closing shut as he exhaled, relaxing against his chair.

Ward shrugged, unfazed. "Okay. Bad thing to be anyway, I suppose." He folded his arms and leaned on the wall. "So why is it so important that his little brother is coming?" he asked awkwardly, in what was probably a heroic attempt from him to make small talk.

Mustang stretched his arms, yawning and eying the clock on the wall – he had a meeting in half an hour, but perhaps he could encourage the man to meet tomorrow. "Fullmetal used to be under my command. In all likelihood, Alphonse is on his way here in order to learn more about him."

He wrinkled his forehead incredulously. "He didn't know his brother?"

Riza looked away as Mustang replied, "Not very well."

* * *

_"And so."_

_"The pieces are falling into place."_

_"I admit I don't understand the purpose of this. At least one of them is completely useless now, and the other one... chances of his recovery are slim at best. Fullmetal knew what he was doing."_

_"That freaking bastard."_

_"It's an inconvenience, of course. But we have no choice."_

_"We could have kept Jeffries and had less of a mess on our hands."_

_"Are you kidding? He barely had it in him for the transmutation, the incompetent fuck, and I'd laid it all out for him! All he had to do was draw and touch his hands to the damn thing!"_

_"He had been a possible sacrifice. If not for your idiotic blunder, we would have had a substitute."_

_"He... he was being an ass!"_

_"Quiet, you fool. I have had enough."_

_"...At least we now know it succeeded. The question is, how are we to proceed?"_

_"It's all there, in both of them. We only have to tap it."_

_"You think it's possible?"_

_"Failure is not an option. And I, for one, have had enough of waiting."_

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A/N: So, I think a lot of things were just made clear... if you're sharp enough, that is. But as far as I can gather, my readers generally are. :)

I know it's been a while, but please tell me if you like, what you like, and please review if you still care about this story!

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	30. In Which Stopping Is Hard To Do

**_Chapter 29: In Which Stopping Is Hard To Do

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_**_A/N: Bet this came as a surprise to most of you, huh? Well, it is the summer, and actually writing is coming along a lot more smoothly lately, for some reason. My dear, excellent reviewers... I have to thank you for sticking with me for so long. Please don't give up on me just yet._

_Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint.  
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_Nothing triggered it, the first time he woke up._

_He'd just been walking, to tell the truth. His mind seemed used to it, so that's what he did. It got him from place to place, at any rate, even though he didn't have any particular place to go to. He had woken up – or was 'become aware' a better way to put it? – next to a bare oak forest that had only barely begun to bloom, without any idea where he was or what he had been doing - other than walking. He was very nervous for some reason, although he felt rather comfortable. _

_And he knew something was wrong._

_So he continued walking, and, once he did so, found no reason whatsoever to stop. There was no destination, no goal, and for some reason, that felt strange too. He noted the ups and downs of the orbs in the sky as a passing thought, noticing that frequently when one orb fell another climbed, sometimes earlier rather than later, but otherwise gave no further consideration to the matter. He heard noises in the background, absently, but rarely paid them any mind._

_Many orbs had come and gone when he finally saw a small figure going the same direction as he did. Eventually, the figure paused, and without knowing why, he paused as well. Soon there was a pattern of walking and pausing, pausing and walking, and he found it curious._

_There came a moment – for there were always moments, never a measure of time beyond that – when he could see the figure's worn and very wrinkled face, and soon after another when the face turned to him and smiled and noised out a greeting._

_He nodded his head and paused, wondering if this was a new pattern to get accustomed to._

_The man gave him his name, and they walked again. "George Welkins, merchant an' bard extraordinaire at yer service."_

_"Hello," he tried out uncertainly, the strange word rolling in the air. It seemed appropriate. Familiar, somehow._

_The man smiled and tipped his hat. His voice was deep and sharp, if a voice could be called that. "Ah've glimpsed yer back fer a couple a' days now. What brings ya to this part of the world?"_

_"I was just…" He struggled to find the right word. "…Walking."_

_The man chuckled. "I was 'just walking' too, but to Vienna."_

_They walked, the old man freely telling him about his extensive travels throughout the continent. The old man was originally from a small town in the West, but at some point relocated to Brussels. At the moment he was headed to Vienna to see his grandson, who had become a blacksmith's apprentice there. _

_"Well, I call him my grandson," Welkins said, with a laugh. "Really he's my goddaughter's whelp, but after his parents passed he became my ward."_

_"'Ward'?"_

_"Means he was left in my care."_

_"Why?"_

_Welkins smiled, a little wryly. "I suppose because he had nowhere else to go."_

_Which was odd, he thought. After all, neither did he, and yet no one was taking care of him. Or caring to begin with._

_Not that he'd understand it if they did._

_--_

_...It sounded comforting, though. Ward._

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* * *

_

"Excuse me," someone muttered, trying to get past Al's feet that hung across the aisle.

"Al," Izumi sighed, nudging the sleeping boy with a foot. "Move your legs."

A moan. Alphonse curled in on himself like a sleepy kitten around a ball, barely opening his eyes.

"Thanks," the person murmured, but Izumi was no longer listening, and instead went back to watching the fields outside Central trot past her window.

It wasn't the first time she made the trip to Amestris' capital – her parents, a bookseller and a cleaning maid, had taken her along on business trips to the big city countless times, enough so that the landmarks had engraved themselves in her mind and just by looking out the window – on the left side, they always sat on the left – she could instantly get a good idea of just how long it was to Central. Or really, how long it was before the wait.

The Central train station was a huge complex located in the middle of Central's eastern sector, built with a large number of platforms that accommodated an equally impressive number of incoming and outgoing trains. For that reason the movement of trains was highly regulated, and passengers could usually depend on a having to wait a good twenty minutes – if not more – before entering the city. Most people made their peace with the inevitable delay, and even came to expect it. Those riding it for the first time or on a tight schedule saw it as an encumbrance, but then there was little they could do.

Izumi looked out and saw the red brick windmill, now slightly more decayed and weary-looking than when she had seen it last, and shook Al awake, knowing it would take most of the twenty minutes for Al to become functional.

"Wazzit?" he mumbled, pushing her hand away from his shoulder.

"We're here," she told him. "Central."

And it appears she had underestimated him, because he abruptly jerked to a sitting position with a groan, eyes at half mast. "'Bout time," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"You're one to talk," she said dryly, watching him with something close to fondness. "You slept the entire way."

"Was comf'table," he shrugged, yawning, and then forcefully perked himself up. "Should I go get our things?"

Izumi nodded, and he yawningly bent to put on his shoes. "Might as well have something to do while we…"

After a moment, Al looked up questioningly. "Teacher?"

She stood, eyes on the blurry landscape. "It's been a while," he heard her mutter under her breath, a frown climbing its way unto her face. "But it's still - " she stopped, whirled on him. "Hurry up," his teacher snapped, and promptly disappeared down the aisle.

He leaned back and sighed for a second, then started tying his shoes.

* * *

Izumi kicked the door open. "What's going on?" she snapped sharply.

The man in uniform – presumably the conductor – didn't even look back at her as he tugged at buttons and levers in a mad frenzy. "Passengers – not," he grunted, pulling a chain, "supposed – " lever, "to be – "

She stood next to him, watching the city of Central loom closer and closer at a disquieting rate. "I asked you a question."

He bit his lip as he rested for a second, wearily wiped his brow with a sweaty hand, and finally deigned to look at her. Whatever he saw must have been reassuring – or more likely, alarming – enough, for he blurted out, "The – the brakes. Something's wrong with them, I can't get the train to stop – and none of the brakemen are responding – "

The door opened again. "Teacher! There you are," she heard from behind her, and the conductor groaned, muttering something about passengers and knowing their place.

She ignored both of them. "Is there anything we can do?" she asked, eyes on the front window.

He eyed them, Izumi in her typical drab outfit, Alphonse now standing still and sober in his dusty red coat. "The train's new," he said finally, coming to a decision, "but the old braking system is still in place. Each car has an air reservoir that applies the brakes when the air pressure is reduced, controlled by a wheel at the end of each car. If you can turn all of them somehow – but even if you did we're too close already, it's too late for us to stop –"

"Leave that to us," Izumi cut in, turning to Al, whose face was whitening even as his expression became more and more determined. "You heard the man, Al. Get going. And be quiet about it."

Al nodded, and hastily ran out.

Izumi looked outside again, her mind a whirlwind as she formed ideas and tossed them, one by one. She could tell that the conductor had been telling the truth – at the speed they were going, even if Alphonse managed to get to all the cars in time the brakes wouldn't be enough to stop the momentum. They'd crash into the platform – and another train, most likely.

What they needed was a way to stall, somehow slow down and help the brakes out a little. She didn't know much more than the basics about trains, but changing the composition or shape of the train was out of the question. Transmuting the ground in front of them into a barrier would only cause them to crash that much faster. If she could raise the earth and the tracks along with it into an upward slope… no, with the momentum they had, they'd only get derailed.

The train was now passing through a recognizably more urban area, with scattered buildings and homeless shelters and empty playgrounds…

...Huh.

_That_ could work.

"I need rope," she told the man, turning on her heel and pushing the door open.

"There's some behind the door – who _are _you?" he said bewilderedly.

"Stay here," she said, and went out.

* * *

_"...Nothing to do with you!"_

_"On the contrary. Or haven't you learned yet? Every action, no matter how great or small, has a consequence."_

___It didn't matter, after all, what happened to him. Not as long as..._  


Ward blinked, snapping out of a daydream. He slouched against the railing and raised his head.

Newly renovated, Central Station had a huge skylight, overlooking from high up on several parallel terminals and fast food stands. Through it the sky appeared a light, uncertain sort of blue, with feathery streaks of white smeared across it almost at random, and made a rather striking juxtaposition next to the gray of the ceiling and the golden bronze of the upright lamps studded throughout the station.

"Pay attention, will ya?"

He looked over at Breda. "To what?" he asked, forehead wrinkling.

The lieutenant opened his mouth, then closed it. He sighed, even as he himself leaned against the guard rail and looked out at the train tracks, nearly two room lengths away. "It'd be nice of you to look a little more alert while we're waiting, that's all. We _are _representing the military."

"No one's looking at us," Ward pointed out, raising his head again. And it was true – in the hustle of people leaving, coming, waiting, no one seemed to pay attention to the two men in civilian clothes staring up at the sky in boredom.

"You've got a point there," Breda admitted, eyes glued to a cloud he thought rather resembled Havoc's face when he came to the office with a suspicious stain on his pantleg. (No one had dared to say anything about it except Mustang, who remarked 'still having trouble aiming, lieutenant?' and Havoc had muttered something about a dog).

He threw a glance at his watch.

Sigh. "Still twenty minutes to go," he told Ward. That's what they got for trying to beat traffic.

Ward was still staring up expressionlessly, as if finding the view utterly fascinating.

"Have we been waiting a long time, Breda?" he asked suddenly, and Breda had to strain his ears to hear him over all the other people in the terminal.

"Only ten minutes," he answered, a little puzzled by the question. It almost gave the impression that Ward was asking something else entirely.

He barely caught Ward's answer, faint as it was.

"…Feels like forever," the man said softly. "Again."

Breda looked over, frowning.

In spite of the three months he'd known the man, Breda was very much aware of how little he actually knew about the general's secretary. It didn't much matter to him beyond determining whether or not the man was trustworthy, but the silence and lack of curiosity on Mustang's part was unnerving to say the least. Even that wouldn't have been a big deal, except Mustang had made it clear from the start that personal questions to the man should be severely limited.

_He obviously underwent a traumatic experience_, Hawkeye had told them afterward as they convened curiously in the staff lounge room, away from both general and secretary. _Look at him. He acts like a child.  
_

_And Mustang decided to take him up as a secretary to help him? _Havoc replied doubtfully. _Mustang? _Our _Mustang_? _He'd be more likely to send him to a mental institution._

_That doesn't sound like the General_, Falman agreed, and Fury nodded.

_There is probably more to it than we know_, Breda said musingly. _Some kind of benefit or personal connection the General hasn't told us yet._

_You're not giving him enough credit, _Hawkeye said quietly, _or else too much. I feel that with Mr. Ward, Mustang is acting solely on instinct._

They'd been skeptical, but it was true that of all of them, Riza knew the general the best, so they left it at that, with the agreed resolution to watch carefully and be on the ready should anything untoward come up.

Now, however, Breda couldn't help but wonder when it was that they'd dropped their guard and allowed Ward to become such an unquestioned factor in their daily lives. He honestly couldn't imagine the office without the random pen clicking or odd out-of-place comments or even the sight of Ward wolfing down enough food for two in the space of five minutes – it was like going without Havoc's cigarettes, or Hawkeye's pistol or Fury's clumsiness, or even Falman's glare when they used his table for table football tournaments. That wasn't to deny, however, that there was much about Ward that they didn't know, but somehow it was understood that it didn't matter all that much anymore.

…That aside, though, sometimes Breda had the strange feeling that Ward himself was just as ignorant as they were.

"Ward," he started to say hesitantly, when a horrid and increasingly loud screeching, scraping noise made it to his ears.

They looked at each other, and for once, Breda knew they were at the exact same page.

_Shit.

* * *

_

_It was later that night (that's what Welkins called it) that they paused again. The man's bag made a curious clinking noise as it was dropped to the ground. _

_ "Ya sure do look as if ya could use some food, laddie-buck. Ye being so small an' all." _

_He watched in fascination as the other made a fire. It looked warm, even though he wasn't quite sure what that meant._

_"Is everything all right? Ye could sit some if ye want."_

_He drew back, startled, and realized he'd been staring at the fire for many moments. "I am fine," he drew out slowly. For some reason, the company of this man made him feel better. _

_He wondered why._

_Shrug. "Suit yerself." That said, the man poured something from the pot into a small dish. "Ye can 'ave first use of the bowl. Got only one, so ye'd better hurry. I'm starving something fierce." The man extended it to him. _

_He moved to hold it, and as the man loosened his hold the dish fell and crashed on the ground, contents pooling around his feet._

_His eyes widened, and for the first time, he woke up completely._

_Welkins, paying no attention, eyed the bowl on the ground and sighed. "Tis all right, not yer fault. These old eyes are no good anymore. "_

_"I'm sorry," he let out, words reaching him far more easily than before. _

_"Don't worry about it, the pot'll serve just as well. Though now there's only enough left fer one," Welkins remarked sadly._

_"It's fine," he said mechanically, now incredibly aware of himself and the man and everything around them. "I'm not hungry." _

_He stared at the ground, stunned._

_The bowl… had gone _through _him. Through his hand. Even now, the soup – of course it was soup, why hadn't he known before? – was gathering through his feet, not around or over or beneath. The wind which tousled George Welkin's wispy hair did not touch him. And he finally, finally knew enough to tell that it was wrong. _

_The comfortable feeling – it wasn't comfort. It wasn't even a feeling._

_It was the complete and utter _lack_ of sensation - complete and total numbness._

_And now that he knew it for what it was, it was terrifying._

_There was all this knowledge, now that he was awake and not just aware – he knew about time and its measurement, remembered that people needed to eat, and usually did so three times a day, remembered how to fight and banter and so many words and concepts that had previously been so beyond him. He knew that he should have needed to eat, should have needed to sleep, should have been able to touch things and feel heat and pain and cold. He knew it now._

_And yet… there was nothing to explain _how_ he knew. Until just this moment, his world had consisted of nothing but walking. _

_"I don't know who I am," he told Welkins all of a sudden, as the latter swept up the broken pieces and tossed them into a bush. "I don't know _what_ I am."_

_The kind eyes settled on him, blind to the way the light from the fire lit the scenery but ignored his companion. _

_"My boy, in my experience a real man doesn't let anyone decide who or what he is, 'cept for himself."_

_And well, there was a thought.  
_

* * *

_A/N: So it might be just me, but I feel as if lately I've just been dropping bombs left and right... well, I suppose after waiting for so long, it's only fair that you guys finally get SOME idea of what's going on in this cockamamie story. Hehe. So, the past ten or so chapters were basically to establish Ward's character. Now that that's done, the only thing left to do - ever-so-slowly, of course, because this is me after all - is get you to understand just how he came to be who and what he is. _

_So. Any thoughts?_

_PS: Dear Mineral-Soul-Bottle, don't worry, I haven't forgotten your drabble. It's still in the conceptualizing stage (the prompts were excellent) but I promise I'll try to get it out as soon as I can._

_PSS: Half Human Homunculi - first of all, nice name. Secondly, I would LOVE it if you drew Ward. Just make sure to give me the link so I can see it!! That goes for anyone who feels like drawing, by the by. I admit, I've always kind of secretly wished I could make this story into a doujinshi (would be so much easier, writing just the dialogue) except my anime-drawing talent are pretty nonexistent. Sigh.  
_

* * *


	31. In Which Ward Is Finally Useful

**_Chapter 30: In Which Ward Finally Proves Useful_**

* * *

_A/N: So... um, it hasn't been too long, has it? I really hope someone's still reading this. If you review, I'll be way more motivated to not take, um... six months for the next chapter... But! This chapter, while not my best - I was trying to crank it out as quickly as I could for you guys - does answer a lot of questions... or at least one or two. Haha. And it finally has Al! Hello Al! I missed you.  
_

_As always, please enjoy and tell me what you think.  
_

* * *

The wheel spun easily, with barely a hint of effort on Al's part.

He frowned and ran a hand through his hair as he thought fast, light brown strands tickling the back of his neck. Clearly the wheel had been tampered with, its ability to manipulate the air reservoir damaged. It would probably be just a waste of precious time to go and check whether the others are still intact.

So really, the only option he had was to lower the pressure in the air reservoirs manually – that is, by himself.

...Al almost smiled.

If he hadn't been an alchemist, it might have been a problem.

* * *

Al gripped the metal rail and boosted himself up and off the ladder. He stumbled ungainly to his feet and faced the rest of the train, wind slamming at his back with the intensity of a truck, whipping at his hair so it flew annoyingly into his eyes while he hastily drew a transmutation circle, and he swore to himself that next time he had the opportunity – because he'd survive this, he had to – he was definitely going to get a haircut, because this, this was just ridiculous. He wished he knew how Ed managed his hair before it was long enough to braid. Wished he knew why Ed grew his hair out in the first place.

But then again, it wasn't like Al hadn't promised himself that time and time again for the past year and backed off each time. For some reason getting a haircut just felt unappealing. Almost… almost _wrong_.

"Alphonse! What are you doing here?"

He turned, cautiously. "Teacher?"

Unlike Al, Izumi was standing up straight, rope around her waist and fastened around the two iron ladders on either side of the roof. Her braids were fastened by a tie away from her face, which somehow only heightened her sharp, intense glare.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Get off!" she yelled brusquely, waving him back.

"Air tank's broken!" he shouted back, battling with the wind for the right to be heard. "Have to fix it!"

There wasn't time to argue and the both of them knew it. Alphonse saw it in her eyes when she conceded his point, and before she could say anything he transmuted a rail out of the roof of the train to surround him in a circle, and fastened his feet to the steel for additional support.

His teacher didn't nod in satisfaction at his precaution – she wouldn't have been Izumi Curtis otherwise. Instead, she merely rolled her eyes and turned her back on her pupil.

As one, they touched their hands to the ground.

* * *

They did nothing but stare as they heard the shriek of released air emit from the train, followed by the incredible sight of two gigantic metal arms practically shooting out of the train to scrape at the ground, gouging deep fissures with a deafening noise.

Breda was the first one to snap out of it. He pulled Ward by his sleeve as he ran, muscles engorged with adrenaline suddenly remembering his training back in Basic. It was a close call, both of them missing falling into one of the gouges made by the arms by less than a foot – the idiot had just stood there and stared, as if having some trouble comprehending that there was a _train_ about to _run him over_ - but he joined Breda quickly enough, however, trailing one second behind, and together they made one last giant leap away from the wave of concrete, legs in the air as the train came to a quick and deafening halt.

A silent and reverberating moment seemed to stretch to infinity as Breda slowly rolled over to his back, tried to slow his heart, and began attempting to think over the loud ringing in his ears – which was easier than one might think, since it felt as if his entire body was vibrating to ask the one question he wanted to ponder:

_What. The. Fuck._

"How…" Breda heard from beside him, low and hoarse. He started, suddenly remembering he wasn't alone, and turned his head.

His coworker blinked at him slowly. Breda peered back worriedly, trying to determine whether Ward's expression was evidence of a concussion or just normal for Ward.

"…How fast do you think that was?" Ward mused finally.

Yeah, he was fine. "Idiot," he muttered, and smacked the top of Ward's head. That done, he propped himself up on his elbows, looked over.

Two huge gouges remained in the earth on either side of the train – not that Breda could see the one on the other side, of course, but he could pretty much guess what was there. He briefly winced at the damage to the station, thinking of all the government money that would have to go into fixing it – but there was no doubt that the train had been stopped just in time; the distance from it to the incumbent train was frighteningly small. If it hadn't been for – for –

Shit.

He hurried to his feet and Ward copied him shakily, grudgingly rubbing the back of his head and muttering something about justice.

Breda paid him little attention. His eyes searched along the train, looking for casualties, looking for survivors, trying to figure out just what the heck happened. It didn't seem like anyone who had been at the station was injured – they could probably thank the fact it was midafternoon for that, and that most people were working – which was excellent of course, although he didn't know about the wellbeing of either train's passengers, but still it wasn't exactly what… what -

His face tightened.

And when Breda sprinted this time, he did not tug Ward along.

* * *

Al woke up abruptly, his entire body hurting. Bronze eyes blinked open, flinching at the light from the station skylights, and he slowly raised his torso from where the circle of metal dug painfully into his stomach.

_We did it, _he thought hazily as he looked over the roof of the train. _We _did_ it._

Two metal arms shot out of the sides of the train like awkward appendages, landing so deep in the ground that Al couldn't see where they ended from where he were. The effect was somewhat reminiscent of a child digging their feet as they slowed their swinging, and Al laughed breathlessly as he marveled privately at the sheer inspiration of his teacher's alchemy. Izumi was quick on her feet, that was for sure.

He suddenly grinned, widely, as he wondered whether this is what it felt like when he traveled with Ed, saving people and having adventures, the exhilaration of getting out by the skin of your teeth, the satisfaction of helping, the feeling like you could do anything.

Al's grin faltered a little - because all that aside, there was still one important thing missing – but he forced it back, though, and turned back to Izumi.

And then his grin faded completely.

"_Teacher!_"

* * *

For the first time in years, Breda laid his gaze on Alphonse Elric. Rather understandably, he was wishing he hadn't – or to put it more accurately, that it had been under better circumstances.

Poor Al looked completely battered, a bit of blood drying under his nose and bruises flecking what little skin he had covered. Breda started a little when he realized what the boy was wearing; while they had all been aware of Al's attachment to his brother's coat, Breda still associated the red with the kid he'd worked with once upon a time - not the one who had most likely worn it ever since leaving Central five years ago.

He squinted as he looked closer - the boy was holding something in his arms, kneeling as he touched the ground and, using alchemy, lowered himself from the roof to a patch of floor that remained intact.

"Alphonse!" Breda breathed as he neared them, and the young Elric's head snapped up.

Al frowned for a moment, gaze dazed and possibly concussed, before recognition flashed through his eyes. "You… Lieutenant?"

"Breda," he corrected absently, and kneeled next to them. "Shit," he swore as he finally recognized an unconscious Izumi Curtis.

Al flinched. Breda cursed at himself. "Let me see her," he said, more softly.

The boy swallowed, lips trembling. Still such an innocent, Breda reflected, but then the round face hardened and Al gently, wordlessly loosened his hold on his teacher. Curtis looked half dead, face bruised and a rivulet of blood trailing down her pain-stricken countenance, her abdomen still bound with rope – which had evidently tightened its grip on her almost fatally when the train stopped.

Breda put a hand to her stomach and gently pressed down, finding it abnormally hard.

He couldn't help a wince. His experience with field medicine didn't extend to treating internal bleeding.

"She…" Another swallow. "She shouldn't be moved," Al whispered, looking up at the lieutenant helplessly, eyes shimmering though no tears fell. "I don't – it might get worse -"

There had to be a doctor somewhere in this station, he thought distantly. And if there weren't, no doubt a call had already been placed to the hospital – after all, it was impossible that an accident of this size and magnitude could have been ignored –

The sound of running footsteps had the two raising their heads.

"Is - _Isabelle_!" Ward cried out, hurriedly dropping to his knees next to Curtis, and even through his surprise Breda noted the whiteness of his skin, the horrified anguish in his eyes - eyes that were, for once, completely unmasked and unfiltered.

"Ward," Breda wasn't even sure he was saying it aloud, the moment was so surreal. "What are you -"

"Isabelle," Ward said again, ignoring him. One pale hand moved as if to touch the bloody face, before flinching back. "Come on, _talk_, you - you _brat_ – say something, please, _please_, you know I can't, you know I _can't -_"

Black eyes opened, blinked, rolled back.

Ward raised panicked eyes to Breda. "She can't be dying," he said wildly, beseechingly, his hands grabbing the sides of his head as if to force something to stay inside. "_No_, not again, she can't – no, no stop it, you have to _stop _it –" he shook his head jerkily, eyes squeezing shut, "I can't – I never could – there's no way to stop it, there's no way to stop –"

"Ward! Snap out of it!" Breda shouted, half out of fright and half out of necessity, because even though he'd never seen Ward being so..._human_, they just didn't have _time_.

The other man slowly lowered his hands from his face, and when he opened his eyes they were shuttered, face cooling into its usual numbness.

And oh, Breda regretted.

"Sorry," Ward said tonelessly, and a shake of his head was all that was left to indicate that something might have occurred. He left quickly, without even a glance back at the woman whose side he had grieved at.

Breda and Al stared after him.

"Who was that?" the boy asked bewilderedly.

At that moment, Breda felt like he barely knew the answer to that himself.

* * *

Ward loped back not three minutes later, doctor and gurney with him. The two quickly and carefully relocated Curtis to the gurney, Al hovering worriedly as his teacher was taken out of his arms. The doctor – a stout man with short legs and a bald spot –briefly examined her, complimenting Breda for his quick work and Al for not moving her more than he had to, biting a curse when he felt her stomach – and then Ward remarked (_remarked_, like he hadn't had a minor breakdown only a few minutes ago) about the time (eleven thirty) and they hauled the woman out, Ward and Breda running as rapidly as possible without overly jostling Izumi, and Al and the doc running alongside, keeping a concerned eye on the patient.

They quickly made their way to the entrance. Breda had fully expected to find nothing but chaos, or perhaps the police, but there, there was a van the doc assured Breda was his, parked conveniently in the front of the gate. They slid the gurney in the back, a clicking sound issuing as it locked into place. They closed the door after the Al, Izumi and the doc, and the van left so swiftly there was barely time for a well-meaning wave.

And just like that, it was over. Breda frowned as he suddenly noticed the vehicles making their way to the scene, firefighters and other officials coming in and out of the station, trying their best to bring order to the chaos… and suddenly he realized that the entire disaster had taken no more than ten minutes.

He breathed out, feeling a little off-balanced now that time was back to its usual pace.

"We were lucky that ambulance happened to be there," he told Ward, who was still trying to follow the van with his eyes.

Ward shrugged as if he'd had no such doubts. "Dr. Gold said he'd come."

Breda started to nod, but then frowned. "What? When?"

"When I called him on the phone."

"You called him on the phone?" Breda echoed in puzzlement. "...When?"

"When you left."

They began to make their way back to the car, only pausing once when a blare of the sirens had Breda instinctively put an arm out in front of Ward, who would likely have walked into the street and the path of the speeding ambulance otherwise.

Neither of them mentioned it, well used to the occurrence.

"When I – wait," Breda said slowly, taking his arm away and quickly turning his head to track the ambulance, now parked in front of the train station precisely where the doctor's van had been before. Driving time from Central General Hospital was approximately eight minutes, Breda thought absently. If the call was placed as soon as the train stopped, and ambulances were only just starting to come in… "How did the doctor know to come before the ambulances from CGH even knew something happened?"

"Because I called him," Ward repeated, sounding almost-but-not-quite irritated. "On the phone."

"You called…" Realization dawned on him. "You mean you called him, specifically. Dr. Gold.."

Ward looked at him as if this should have all been perfectly obvious. "The hospital isn't close enough for emergencies," he said patiently. "Dr. Herdon's office is only four blocks away."

He blinked. "That was… smart," he said, surprised. "Good going."

Ward shrugged uncomfortably. He ducked his head, a slight red blooming on the back of his neck.

Breda smiled a little bit, and reached out a hand to ruffle the hair of this pesky, surprising secretary, who was always much too serious for his own good.

"Ugh," Ward said as he batted the lieutenant's hand away, although not before it had managed to mess up his hair, and Breda smirked smugly as the secretary sighed in annoyance and began taking it out of its ponytail.

Something else nagged at him though. "How do you know him? Dr. Gold?"

As far as Breda knew Ward had no history, no family, no one to count on other than the Hughes and Mustang's staff - and little to no interaction with anyone else (except perhaps the cafeteria lady at HQ). The only reason he would have to call the doctor would be, well, would be if he was a patient.

But that, that couldn't be right, could it –

"I don't."

Breda literally stopped walking. "You don't?" he let out in disbelief. He quickly caught up to Ward (who had kept walking), stopping him physically with a handhold on his shoulder. "What do you mean, you don't? Then how did you know his number?"

Ward looked up at him patiently, as why he was being questioned was completely beyond him. "It was in one of the files Mustang gave me to transcribe."

"The file –" Breda stopped, forced himself to count to… two. "Which file?"

"The one about transferring patients back to CGH," the secretary replied, perfectly amiably.

He frowned as he unlocked the car. "The one…" he repeated, then widened his eyes. "You're talking about after Packard, when CGH was evacuated? The one with the list of all the practices in Central willing to take on extra patients during emergencies?"

Ward tilted his head in thought as he sat down and closed the car door. He waited until Breda entered the driver's seat. "Doctor Gold, 3164 17th Parkway, 997-4125. Five patients from the geriatric ward."

He paused a moment.

"...It might have been six," he conceded.

Breda stared.

Ward sat back, relaxing. When the car didn't start, he looked over at the lieutenant and frowned a little. "What?"

The lieutenant let out a breath, and finally turned the key in the ignition.

"…Maybe I should talk to Mustang about getting you a pay raise."

* * *

_A/N: The threads, they all begin to tie together... haha. _

_So Ward is smart? Who'd a thunk?_


	32. In Which Ward Still Lacks Social Skills

_**Chapter 31: In Which Ward Still Lacks Social Skills**_

* * *

_A/N: (Wait, what? It hasn't been six months?) _

_Guys, thank you so much for sticking around and reviewing last chapter. That was... really motivating, actually, I don't know how I wrote this chapter so quickly. I hope everyone enjoys it!_

_Also, has fanfiction been weird for anyone else lately? I'm not getting alerts or ANYTHING and it is bothering me something major._

* * *

_It was stupid to think it would last. _

_Not even a half-blind old man, however cheerfully oblivious, could fail to notice when his companion didn't eat, didn't sleep, never touched or felt pain. When he wouldn't make a sound when he walked, or sit down or even start a fire.  
_

_Yes, it was easy to pretend with someone there. And he tried, for Welkins' sake; went around trees, rather than through them; walked in strange, roundabout paths instead of plodding straight on, as if the obstacles in the merchant's way could hinder him just as they did the old man; pretended like he could feel fear, cold, heat, loneliness. Privacy. Welkins was incredibly talkative, and had a very forgiving, easygoing temperament, which made him easy to fool. _

_There was no reason for him not to tell Welkins what he was, although in truth he didn't know what he could have said in any case. But he did not want to risk losing the man's company – anxiety grabbed hold of him whenever the man was away from his sight, and he had the irrational (or perhaps all too rational) fear that if he lost his companion, his newfound awareness would leave with him. And so he followed the man like a shadow, doing his best to keep him safe by scouting ahead and telling him where edible food was, what bridges to pass, which strangers to avoid. It was beyond wonderful to be with someone else. Every day they would talk, exchange ideas, learn, and one topic would trigger one piece of knowledge and then that would lead to another, and another, and he would remember. At night, when he'd keep watch while Welkins slept, he hoped (deep, deep inside) that eventually, given enough time, he would at last remember everything he had to remember.  
_

_And for a time – he didn't know how much, it felt like nothing and forever, all at once – for a time, it worked._

_But not for long._

_"What – what in the devil's _name _–"_

_"Welkins – Welkins, I can explain –"_

_The merchant scrambled back, one hand on his chest and the other held out shakily in front of him. "Stay back! Stay back, you, you..." he faltered, face draining of blood. "What on Earth – Jesus and Mary, you're, you're not _human_!"_

_He wished he could feel something physical – anything but this numb, sinking emotion he couldn't name. __He hadn't understood what was happening at the time, but he would be familiar with it later. _

_Ending. It was ending._

_"I… am not," he agreed quietly, feeling empty. It would be foolish to deny. _

_Welkins made an odd gesture over his chest, sweat bright on his forehead and glistening in the sunlight. "You – _abomination _- what did I – didn't think I deserved –" he folded in two, gasping heavily, left hand clasping his right shoulder, right arm curling limply at his side. "Hell – not hell – God, God, what did I – what did I _do_ –"_

_He was at once at Welkins' side, because even despite everything, something was wrong and this man was – was something. To him. He didn't know what, save for that he couldn't bear to lose it. "Welkins, Welkins, please - I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, talk to me – "_

_It was funny, in retrospect, just how much he didn't know back then._

_"No stop this, come on, what are you doing – "_

_The familiar brown eyes rolled up in their sockets, eyelids fluttering closed. Blood frothed from the thin blue lips. _

_His hands reached out clumsily, uncertainly. Tried to wipe off the red, tried to cause the eyes to open, tried to cradle the balding head and comfort the only person he had in the world._

_"No – no, Welkins - Welkins, you need to – you're supposed to breathe, please, you need to breathe -"_

_They always went through. No matter how hard he tried, they always went _through.

_"Please! _Please_, you – you rotten old bastard! Breathe!__" _

_Always._

_"__Welkins, _breathe_!" he cried. _

_...But Welkins didn't._

_

* * *

_

People laughed and sold, talked and bought, called out, walked, each face lighting up with countless emotions one by one, second by second, whether it was seeking shade or just carelessly painted by sunlight. The elm trees intermittently lining the road shimmered a little in the afternoon sun, tiny leaf buds only just beginning to unfurl. Beyond them and the taller gray buildings was a deep cerulean sky, with patches of clouds at times shielding the brightness from Ward's eyes, which would hurt if he stared up for too long.

Not that he really noticed, but it was something to think about.

…The world was so pretty.

"Who's Isabelle?"

But then, it always had been. Even when things weren't good, or happy. It had still been beautiful. Always, always beautiful.

"Ward?"

Yet it couldn't compare. Not really. This time – ever since – everything was different now. Not like before. He could finally reach, touch. Even after all these months, he couldn't help but still, still…

The sun could burn. Hurt. Why did no one ever appreciate that? Why did they take it for granted? Why did it always take for everything to be taken – stolen – before –

"_Ward_."

He blinked at Breda dazedly, bright spots of color winking in and out in front of his eyes.

The lieutenant frowned at him before turning back to the road. It was taking them awhile because of traffic, Ward knew. And the traffic was because of the train that didn't crash. "You okay? You shouldn't stare at the sun like that, it's bad for your eyes."

"Bad?"

Breda nodded offhandedly. "Yeah, you could go blind if you're not careful."

Blind, he repeated in his head. Being unable to see. "I should be careful." Nothing could be worse than not seeing.

…Except for before. Before was worse.

"Yeah you should," Breda replied, and glanced at him. "So Ward."

He was supposed to reply to that. "Yes?"

"You seemed pretty… upset, earlier."

Upset? When had he been upset?

"Everything all right now?"

"Everything's always all right," he answered, puzzled. Because it _was _always all right, now that nothing was like before, now that forever didn't seem to exist anymore. Well, other than the times when –

Gently. "Who's Isabelle?"

"She wasn't Isabelle," he replied, because that was true, and he should have realized it from the first. It was stupid to fall for it. Isabelle had never worn her hair in braids, after the first time - she had had long, wavy black hair that she used to blow out of her face while she was working or kneading dough with her hands, but she never put it up. Just because they looked alike didn't mean... didn't mean anything.

You couldn't change the past.

A sigh. "I know. That was Izumi Curtis, Ed and Al's teacher." His companion tried again. "That's not what I'm asking. Who's Isabelle, Ward?"

Ward stopped looking at Breda and instead stared straight ahead. There had only ever been one Isabelle, for him, only one Isabelle for Breda to ask about. "Isabelle is – "

He stopped. He didn't know what to say.

"Is she your sister?"

Ward couldn't help a snicker. "No," he laughed at the ridiculous idea, startling Breda a little. "No, no, Isabelle isn't my sister." He thought a bit, wondering how to put it. "Isabelle just…" His eyes slid to the side, and a crooked smile climbed up his face. "Isabelle was. Important."

Breda stole a glance at him, heart clenching a little. There was no doubting what Ward meant. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Ward shrugged almost carelessly.

"It's okay. People die."

His voice was soft, a sad sort of amused.

"It's what they do."

* * *

Al hugged his knees in the waiting room and stared at the double doors.

Teacher was fine. She'd survived a couple of hours already – she _must _have, they would have told him otherwise – and that was a good indication. It was. No news was good news, wasn't that what everyone always said?

And this was Teacher he was thinking about. No matter how much blood she could vomit on a weekly basis – Teacher had a knack for overexerting herself – she would always get back up, light on her feet and ready to fight. He was worrying for nothing.

Right. Nothing.

"Alphonse," someone huffed, and he saw Lieutenant Breda suddenly come next to him, hands braced against Al's chair as he gasped in quick, shallow breaths.

"Lieu- Breda," he said quietly, remembering.

Breda straightened, though his hand remained on the chair. "Sorry – sorry you had to wait here by yourself," the man breathed, still a bit winded.

"It's okay," he said, releasing his legs and letting them hang from the chair, kicking aimlessly for a moment before he stilled them, hands clenched tight on his knees. It _was _okay. After a year traveling on his own, he thought he should be able to handle anything on his own pretty well.

And it wasn't like Breda owed him anything in the first place, anyway.

"No, it's _isn't_," the man returned firmly, surprising Al into meeting his sincere eyes. "I had to notify the General, but that's still no excuse. I apologize, Alphonse."

He stared, then dropped his gaze uncomfortably. "It's… I'm all right. Dr. Gold stayed with me for a while."

"Good." Hesitation. "How… how is she?"

Al's eyes wavered to the closed double doors. "I don't – they didn't tell me. I don't know. I think she's fine, but I don't, for sure –" he breathed in, let it out. Calm, he had to be calm. "I don't know."

"That's…" the lieutenant seemed at a loss. "That's… something," he muttered awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "So, about – ah, there you are," Breda said upon catching sight of the same odd man Al encountered at the station, who was at the moment calmly walking across the room in their direction, hands loose at his side.

"I am here," the man confirmed, eyes glancing over Al.

"Did you call like Mustang asked?"

"Yes, and she says it's fine." He paused. "She's angry he hadn't told her before."

"Let the General worry about that." Breda glanced back at Al. "Oh, right, haven't introduced you two, have I? Alphonse, this is Mr. Ward Enkelbert, our secretary. Ward, this is Alphonse Elric."

"I knew that," the other man answered irritably, before sticking out his hand in front of him.

Al stared down at it, uncomprehending. His head hurt.

"You're supposed to shake it, you know," he was told helpfully. Frown. "I thought Mustang said you were smart."

"Ward," Breda snapped.

Ward froze. His hand fell slowly. "Sor- sorry," he said after a moment. He glanced hesitantly at Breda, then back at Al. "I… I'm sure you're very smart?" he tried.

"_Ward_," the lieutenant repeated in exasperation, though Al could tell there was amusement underlying the reprimand.

"What?" the secretary frowned, and Al found he had to stifle a smile at the guileless expression. "I apologized."

Breda rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he told Al. "He can be kind of an idiot."

"_You're _the idiot," Ward muttered audibly under his breath, while Al assured Breda that no, he wasn't offended.

The doors opened. "Alphonse Elric?"

Al instantly forgot what he had been saying and practically leaped across the room. "How is she?"

The nurse was a shorter woman who reminded Al of what a real grandmother probably looked like, with fine wispy gray hair that is wrapped in a frazzled bun and cheeks lined like they pull back for smiles often. Not that Pinako wasn't exactly a real grandmother – Winry's real grandmother, anyway, but Pinako didn't look anything like someone who would spend most of her time baking and knitting.

She looked patient and kind and lovable, but at the moment Al only cared that she wasn't frowning.

"Mrs. Curtis will be fine, dear," she told him gently, steering him to a chair. "She had us worried for a bit there, but she pulled through very well. In the end the absence of her organs was a stroke of fortune – organs couldn't have withstood the pressure her body went through. So don't worry, she will be just fine."

He slumped down, taking his face in his hands. "That's – that's great," he said tightly, finally looking up. "Can I – can I see her?"

She bent a bit to be at his level, hiding the wince when her back feebly protested the movement. "I'm afraid not at the moment. She still needs to be carefully monitored."

"It would only be for a minute," Breda said, hand on her arm.

She met his eyes. "I wouldn't advise it," she said, a hint of steel under her tone.

Breda buried a grimace and didn't say another word. He took back his hand.

She looked back at Alphonse and straightened, fingers lingering lightly on Al's shoulder. "You can come in the morning, dear. Visiting hours start at eight."

Al swallowed. "She'll – she will be better tomorrow, won't she?"

The nurse seemed to lose her footing - under the horribly sad and earnest bronze gaze, the nurse seemed like she was only a breath away from taking Al home and feeding him cookies until he felt better.

"Of - of course," she managed almost vehemently, attempting a smile. "Of course."

At that, Ward looked away and tuned out of the conversation.

…It sounded too much like wishing for his liking.

* * *

_He waited. He stayed there through darkness, through light and snow __and sun __and rain. The world stayed the same, changing in its increasingly predictable way, but somehow the colors almost looked faded, without anyone else to share them, and it simply _felt _different, although he couldn't feel and he knew it, he knew it so very well. _

_Welkins stayed too, changing from blue to gray to black and then bone, little pieces of him carried away by scavengers and torn by the elements. He couldn't stop it so he watched, just stayed and watched and__ wondered about Welkins' family, his friends, his ward who would never know.__ Finally the bones yellowed and even he knew Welkins wasn't really Welkins anymore, but he still didn't want to leave, because if he left he would never know how to come back - he couldn't mark the place, he couldn't bury the skeleton, he couldn't even write a name so someone else would see, and remember. He couldn't do anything, and it rankled and rankled and tore at him just like vultures, just as if he had something to lose, just as if he was real._

_And one day, the skeleton was just a skeleton, just a pile of bones under layers of leaves and soil that he couldn't dig past and see. He stood vigil for a long time._

_And then, finally, he forgot.  
_

_He woke up - or was 'became aware' a better way to put it? - in a forest just beginning to redden its leaves. _

_He looked around. __It was very beautiful, but he had a feeling that something was off. Something was missing._

_...Puzzling. He stood there and wondered for a while, questions like why was __he h__ere, when did he get here and how?  
_

_Nothing came to him. Slowly, instead of why he was here, he began to wonder why he wasn't somewhere else.  
_

_So he started walking.  
_

* * *

_A/N: My my my, Ward has a bit of a past... and he finally met Al! I wonder what Al thinks of him...  
_

_Like it/hate it? Review!_


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